Heroes
by Maygin
Summary: The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing. [Edmund Burke]
1. Prologue

**Hero's**

By: Maygin (I'm baaaaack)

Summary: "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."

- Edmund Burke (1729-1797)

Warning: There is no warning. I just wanted a place to put my excuse as to why I used the title I did. I wrote this way before the show "Hero's" actually came to be. In fact I started writing this way back in June or July I think. It's been a long time coming and I don't even know if it's worth it. However I had a blast with it and I think you might too. It's AU – but don't let that turn you off, because… actually I have no good reason other than I think you'll enjoy it! This could possibly turn into more stories along the road – actually I've already got several ideas I'm tinkering around with so yeah.

Disclaimer: I am not making any money off of nor do I own anything supernatural… other than my roommate.

BIG FRIGGIN Thanks To: Carikube – whose life I rudely invaded and asked if she would beta this story for me. She was AWESOME! Gave me all the right encouragement I needed to keep going when I got stuck or wasn't sure about something. So thanks girl!

As always – don't forget to review… don't make me _full-on-Obi-Wan_ you ;)

** S**

_Do not go gentle into that good night,  
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;  
Rage, rage against the dying of the light._

_Though wise men at their end know dark is right,  
Because their words had forked no lightning they  
Do not go gentle into that good night._

_Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright  
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,  
Rage, rage against the dying of the light._

_Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,  
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,  
Do not go gentle into that good night._

_Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight  
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,  
Rage, rage against the dying of the light._

_And you, my father, there on the sad height,  
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.  
Do not go gentle into that good night.   
Rage, rage against the dying of the light._

_-Dylan Thomas_

**Prelude**

Dean pressed his fore-fingers into his eyes and rubbed slowly letting out a rugged, weary sigh; refocusing on the blue screen dully illuminating the heavily curtained, dark room.

"Winchester," moaned a clearly annoyed voice from the other end of the room, "would you give it a rest already? Some of us are trying to sleep here."

Several more grunts from around the room added their own sentiments of agreement. Dean rolled his eyes with a smirk and closed the laptop, rising from the small table and grabbing his shirt from its resting place on his chair. "Bunch of babies." he murmured as he headed towards the room's exit. He paused at the doorway as one particularly colorful remark carried across the room. Flicking his hand across the light switch, he went his merry way down the stairwell, grinning openly at the loud protests and curses following his exit.

He pushed the stairwell door open and trailed comfortably into the large, sun-lit room, his footsteps echoing off the walls. He looked towards the back wall and slowly made his way over, eyeing the large red trucks resting peacefully to his left as he walked. He paused, reaching over and pushing a large hose-line back into its proper place in one of the truck's side compartments.

"Here comes trouble."

Dean smirked at the occupant behind the desk along the back wall of the garage, giving his t-shirt a good shake before pulling it over his head.

"Alright I don't know what it is you did this time but I want at least twenty feet distance from you at all times."

Dean held his hands out giving an incredulously innocent look to the young woman who was currently pointing a pair of scissors at him. "I didn't do anything," he plea-bargained.

The woman gave him a flat look. "Last time you said that I ended up with kitchen duty for a month."

"What'd you expect? You're the only girl in this outfit." Dean quickly dodged the stress ball that whizzed by his head. "Geeze woman! Midol much?"

"Jerk."

"Just-" Dean held a supplicant hand up, "could you put the scissors down? You're gonna put my eye out with those things."

The woman smirked as she dropped the weapon back into the mug filled with pens. "It wasn't for your eye."

Dean leaned forward on the desk a sly smile lighting his eyes. "I didn't realize you were such a kink Marris."

"Must your mind permanently traverse the gutters?" she said with long-suffering.

"Just waitin for you to join me."

"That'll be the day," she muttered, making a scribble on the paperwork splayed across the desk. Dean flicked at the Dalmatian bobble-head resting on the edge as he straightened and moved towards a neighboring desk. He sat down heavily in the chair behind it and stretched; rubbing his hands over his face.

Marris leaned her chin on her fist and inspected the other man closely. "What's with the bags?"

Dean looked at her expectantly for a moment before throwing his hands up in question and looking around him in an obvious show of confusion.

She let her arm drop to the desk and took in a deep breath, preparing for battle. "The bags under your eyes." Dean dropped his hands and swiveled his chair to face the desk before him. He snatched a pen from an identical mug and opened one of the many manila folders resting along the side. Marris tapped her pen expectantly on the old wood as she watched him. "There was nothing you could do," she said stated quietly.

"Yeah." He said some-what detached, shuffling through the papers. "That's what they keep telling me."

"Maybe you should listen to them."

"Maybe someone should do their frickin job and catch this guy," he shot back angrily.

"They're trying Dean."

Dean dropped his pen and turned towards her, anger and frustration clear in his eyes. "They're _always_ trying Marris. They've _been_ trying for the last forty years. Wars have been won in less time than that!"

Dean's voice rang throughout the garage followed by silence. Marris fingered her pen, lips pressed firmly together in quiet acceptance to her friend's anger. Dean sighed loudly and ran his hands over his head as he leaned forward on the desk. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Marris looked at him thoughtfully. "For what?"

Dean let his arms fall to the desk top and turned tired eyes towards her. He didn't answer. He didn't need to; they both knew it was a loaded question. Marris dropped her gaze and started rifling through the papers in front of her. "Your dad called earlier."

Dean started shuffling through his own papers as well but paused at her announcement. "Why didn't you come get me?"

"Because I _thought_ you were sleeping..." she triumphantly pulled a small sticky note from amidst the pile and stood "like you were supposed to be doing." She walked around to stand before his desk, holding out the small note with a number scribbled on it. "Find anything?" She asked; her tone quietly respectful once more.

Dean reached forward and accepted the phone message with a sigh. "No."

Marris gave a small nod. "You will."

Dean looked up again and watched her walk away, disappearing through one of the side doors.

"And get some sleep;" the woman's voice carried back through the doorway, "You look horrible."

Dean frowned, yanked a pink highlighter from the mug and chucked it at the Dalmatian bobble-head resting innocently on the opposite desk. He gave a vindicated nod as it clattered noisily to the floor.

Facing his desk again, he turned the sticky note over in his hand and stared at it. His gaze glanced towards an old brown folder stuffed with papers sitting on the corner of the desk. Several newer looking papers and pictures were paper-clipped to the front of it. He sighed and picked up the receiver on the phone next to his arm and started dialing. It didn't take long for the other end to pick up. "Yeah, Dad it's me." Dean picked up a pen and let his nervous energy out on it against the desk, the tapping sound somewhat soothing. "Yeah I'm fine." He listened calmly to the voice on the other end. "No... he got away." Dean dropped the pen and rested his forehead against his hand, shielding his tired eyes. "...there was nothing we could do."

TBC…

(So what do you think? …sound like something you could get into?)


	2. Chapter 1

**Hero's**

By: Maygin

Summary: "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."

Edmund Burke (1729-1797)

Quick Note: Now I know some of you are probably wondering where Sam is in all of this… I don't want to give away any plot points or anything- so allow me to just say this… trust me ;) Yeah, yeah, yeah- I know, it's lame and you want more than that. But trust me, and remember that if I absolutely HAD to choose, Sam is my fave and I hate tragedy stories. So keep on reading!

**Chapter 1**

"You know I don't get it."

Dean looked up from his beer to one of the many companions gathered around the table in the noisy bar. The other man was shaking his head in frustration as he picked up an overly salted chip. "How is this guy even still around?" There were murmurs of agreement around the table; Dean simply nodded, wiping the condensation from his bottle. "I mean he's been doing this for what- forty, fifty years? He's gotta be an old geezer by now. How does someone not notice some geriatric moseying around their house in the middle of the night?"

"The guy's good," one man acquiesced.

"He's a psycho is what he is."

"Yeah but it's creepy ya know? I mean no one's ever even seen this guy."

"Could be a woman for all we know."

Dean watched the conversation amongst his companions with detached interest.

"What- you think some woman who couldn't have kids took a one way flight to loonyville and feels the need to take her anger out on women who _can_?"

"And their babies."

The young man who had first spoken paused, looking around the table. "That's just disturbing."

"Welcome to the job rookie," one of the older men said tiredly before taking a swig of his beer.

The younger man just shook his head toying with the chip in his hands. "It just doesn't make sense."

"It's not supposed to, that's why they call them _psycho's_."

"You think they'll ever get 'im?" The companions grew awkwardly quiet, eyes passing over the table.

"We'll get 'im," Dean's voice was quietly firm, staring at the scarred table-top, nursing his beer.

One of the more muscular men at the table cocked his head and raised his own bottle. "I'll drink to that." The other men murmured agreements and clinked their glasses together. Dean joined in, staring straight ahead as he took a long swig. The muscular man smirked at him and slowly shook his head, "But I'll tell you one thing Winchester, you keep tinkerin around with that stupid laptop while I'm sleeping and I'm gonna shove one of them hoses up your a-"

"Hey- language in front of the rookie," another of the men clapped his hands around the youngest man's ears.

Dean grinned at his muscular friend, "You are one cranky son-of-a-gun you know that?"

"Papa bear needs his sleep." The man stated to a knowing audience.

A quiet mutter carried around the table. "That's not all Papa bear needs."

A moment of brief silence surrounded them before the table erupted into laughter. 'Papa bear' loudly set his beer on the table and threw a scowl across the way. "I know that did not just come out of your mouth rookie." The guilty young man threw his hands up innocently. "You been hanging around Winchester too much."

"You're always throwin blame around aren't ya?" Dean accused good-naturedly.

"I'm gonna start throwin you around if you don't start doing down-time with the rest of us. I'm tired of you wakin me up man."

"Lord knows you _need_ your beauty sleep." Dean said, joining in with the laughter steadily growing amidst the rest of the bar's noisy patrons.

**S**

Matthew Brayman skirted around a corner of the dark alley, his jacket lightly scraping against the brick buildings he was hugging as he stayed close to the shadows. He stopped near the edge of the alley, nervously looking up and down the dark, quiet street. He jerked around as two stray cats suddenly appeared, hissing and fighting over a mouse that was desperately trying to escape with its life. The tall young man swallowed the large lump that suddenly lodged in his throat and looked back into the dark street. He backed further into the shadow of the building as a car sped by, its lights dimly illuminating his hiding spot.

A soft gurgle joined the hissing of the cats causing Matthew to look down at the tightly wound bundle being held close to his chest. He shifted the package into one arm and pulled the light blue blanket aside revealing rosy red cheeks and a pair of bright blue eyes. He smiled slightly at the cooing baby, gently caressing its cheek with his finger. The baby squealed and grabbed his finger with its tiny hand. Matt's eyes burned as he watched the precious charge.

The little mouse suddenly made an appearance, skittering around the corner into the street. Matthew kicked his foot out, causing the alley cat precious seconds as it jumped back in surprise and then made a wide circle around him towards the street and around the corner. He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on the baby's forehead before tucking the blanket tightly around him once more and making his way across the dark street.

He came to a stop in front of a large wooden door and leaned on the bell. He kept a nervous eye on the street behind him; moonlight being the only illumination up and down the abandoned area. He took a step back as a latch was suddenly undone on the large door before him. Soft, yellow light swept across his young face as an older man in a disheveled robe pulled the large door open.

Matthew swallowed, "Father."

The older man frowned in worry as he took in the anxious man before him, and more importantly the precious bundle in his arms. "Matthew," he sighed, knowing full well what he was looking at. "I'd like to say this was unexpected but after hearing about the fire yesterday..."

"Six months old... just like the rest." Matthew shifted the child slightly, unconsciously tightening his hold. "The mother didn't make it."

"They said the baby didn't either... I should've known better."

"Do you have room for him?"

The older man reached out and accepted the charge, "There's always room in God's house for lost souls."

Matthew turned sad, dark eyes to the elder man before him, clearly hearing the hidden meaning behind the statement. He gave a small nod. "Thank you Father Jim." He turned then and stepped back into the street.

"Matthew," the Father called, one arm holding the child, the other resting on the door frame, "Have you talked to anyone?"

Matthew stopped in the middle of the street, turning halfway towards the old church. "Who would believe me?" he asked with quiet finality.

Father Jim watched with heavy heart as the young man disappeared within the shadows of the surrounding buildings once more. "There are some, child," he whispered into the night before turning and closing the Church's heavy oak door.

TBC…


	3. Chapter 2

**Hero's**

By: Maygin

Summary: "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."

- Edmund Burke (1729-1797)

Today's Note: HAPPY HALLOWEEN!! As my gift to you, I give you chapter 2… you however may not consider it a gift. Either way I love ya : (pardon me – Halloween is my favorite holiday… that and _Simon Says_ put me in a good mood for the next month and a half!!) Hope you enjoy!

Again- Thanks to Carikube who helped me keep this within the English language parameters. Don't blame her for anything you don't like though cuz she could only do so much

**Chapter 2**

"Hey Winchester... Jimmy's Barbeque or Del Rio's?"

Dean frowned at the scruffy-looking man who ran up beside him. "Denny," Dean held up a hand to emphasize his point "you can _not_ take this girl to Jimmie's."

"Why not?"

"Because she's Catholic and it's Lent"

The other man looked at him blankly. "So?"

Dean rolled his eyes and spoke slowly, "So she can't - eat - meat."

The other man shrugged as he slipped his jacket on, "She can get a salad."

Dean shook his head and walked away. "Whatever man, it's your date."

"Hey, you workin a double-shift tonight?" the man called after him.

"Nope, I'm outta here."

"Kay, I'll see ya in a few days then."

"Yeah alright." Dean threw a wave back as the other man left through the garage doors. He hung up his pair of yellow rubber pants, grabbed a rag from a cubby hole above his locker and kneeled down. He picked up a heavy boot, and proceeded to wipe it clean of any remaining black soot with the rag.

"Big plans?" Marris came up beside him, hanging up a similar pair of yellow rubber pants and jacket.

Dean glanced at her and then did a double-take. "Wow, you look unusually nice."

Marris frowned and shoved him with her heel, knocking him off balance and sending him sprawling to the ground on his butt. "Funny, you look exactly the same."

Dean snickered and repositioned himself in a more sturdy kneel checking out her _unusual_ choice of clothing. "So where are we headed all decked out?"

Marris snorted while smoothing out the wrinkles in her flowery skirt. "_We_ are headed nowhere... at least not unless you shower first."

Dean paused mid-swipe on his boot and looked up her, "Seriously?"

Marris shrugged. "You're free to come."

Dean stood to his full height, a sly smile on his lips. "I'm wearin ya down aren't I?"

The young woman didn't even flinch. "You have ten minutes to shower and be presentable."

Dean smiled and turned, disappearing into the stairwell. His head suddenly popped back out. "This isn't like a _baby_ shower or anything is it?"

"Nine minutes."

Dean smiled and disappeared again.

**--S--**

"You are an evil, conniving little woman do you know that?" Dean whispered in annoyance.

"It was your choice to come." Marris whispered back in defense.

"That was before I knew you were taking me to a four hour chanting session." Dean growled and nervously looked at the rows of people surrounding him.

"Well what'd you expect? It's Sunday morning... who dresses up on Sunday morning unless they're going to church?"

"This isn't church; this is the torture chamber from 'Saw'. People are gonna start chewin their ears off any minute now."

"Oh will you give it a rest?" Marris whispered now equally annoyed. "It's not that bad." She smiled and gave a small nod to a few church members peering at them curiously. "Besides, this is just the pre-service."

"Are you freakin kidding me?!" he whispered harshly. A few more heads turned toward them. Dean glared and they promptly went back to fake-ignoring them.

Marris threw him her own glare. "Everyone meets together for the pre-service and then we'll break off and head towards the nursery."

Dean squared his shoulders, calming his nerves. "The nursery?" he asked in an appropriate whispering voice once more.

Marris nodded complacently, "I work in the nursery during the Main Service."

"Great, so instead of a bunch of stodgy, self-righteous chanters we'll be surrounded by a bunch of bratty, snot-nosed kids." Dean smarted.

"Sounds like you'll fit right in." The two slowly turned to glare at each other.

"Amen." they both growled with the rest of the congregation.

**--S-- **

"Oh my gah-" Dean slapped a hand over his mouth as he tried to stop his gagging reflex. "What the he-…" he paused, remembering where exactly he was, "What is that?"

"What is what?" Marris asked, openly laughing at his expense.

"That!" Dean pointed at the open diaper. "All that green stuff?" Dean looked at his friend who was currently bouncing one baby on her arm while wiping at her laughter induced tears. Dean frowned at her. "Marris, that can _not_ be normal."

Marris swallowed down as much as she could, "Dean," she comforted, "it's completely normal. Trust me. I'm sure you probably mortified _your_ father with the same thing when _you _were a baby." She laid the sleeping baby in her arms down in an empty crib.

"Yeah well if I did he never mentioned it," He grumbled as he held the object of disgust as far away from him as he could before dropping it in the waste can.

"Well knowing you, you probably traumatized the poor guy… can't even speak about it anymore." Marris moved over towards him and slapped his hand away as he grabbed a clean diaper. "Go get the crying one," she gestured behind her as she snatched up a clean diaper and began cleaning the currently naked baby.

Dean moved to the other side of the room and searched for the wailing baby. He succeeded and gently picked the little tyke up just like Marris had shown him. He started bouncing the baby boy up and down trying to calm him. The little boy's cries slowed to a quiet hiccupping, and it grasped tightly onto Dean's finger. He looked up to see Marris watching him with a grin on her face.

"Handled that like a pro Winchester." She commented, moving to his side and looking down at the little baby.

"Yeah well despite popular belief this is not the first baby I've held."

"Oh yeah? You frequent many nurseries around here?"

Dean threw her a baleful glance. "No… I had a little brother at one time."

Marris looked taken aback. She definitely hadn't been expecting that. "I didn't know you had brother."

"Yeah well…" he gave a small shrug, watching the little boy in his arms try and pull his finger into its mouth. "You know how mom died…" he left it open. They were both familiar with the case, especially now that there had been another victim only two days ago.

Marris gave a small nod. "You never mentioned him. I guess I just thought it was always your mom. I never…" Dean looked at her as she faltered. "I should have known… sorry," she mumbled pathetically.

Dean gave her a small smile. "Don't worry about it… I never really knew him anyways. He was what, six months old?"

"Doesn't mean you didn't love him."

"Look," Dean shifted the baby in his arm, "I uh, I would appreciate it if you didn't bring it up with the guys. I mean they probably know, but…"

"No need to create awkward guy moments?"

"Exactly."

Marris shrugged, "My lips are sealed."

Dean smirked, "I can help you with that."

"Hm," Marris tisked. "And you were so cute there for like, two seconds."

"I'm always cute." Dean's head suddenly swiveled down. "Wha- ah man!" He pulled his now drool soaked finger out of the baby's mouth and looked at it in disgust.

"Good baby." Marris cooed.

Dean grimaced and wiped his wet finger on Marris' blouse. Ignoring him, she turned to look at the baby's crib. "Huh," she said while reading the little identification card attached to the device.

"What?" Dean asked disinterestedly as he wiped the remaining drool off on his jeans.

"This one's new."

"What?" Dean asked again moving to her side and gazing down at the card as well.

"Actually it looks like this one belongs to the church now."

"What do you mean 'belongs to the church'?"

This church acts as a foster home as well for children who can't be placed."

"An orphanage," Dean clarified.

Marris tilted her head in defeat. "Pretty much. Looks like he just came in yesterday."

"He's kinda young isn't he?"

Marris shrugged. "Young girls get pregnant, can't afford to take care of them so they just drop em off. Happens all the time."

"That's gotta suck."

"Actually compared to the life they would have had, I like to think we're offering them something better." A new voice filled the room.

Marris smiled and moved to give the older man a hug. "Father Jim."

"Marris," he hugged her back, "it's good to see you."

"Likewise; this is a fellow co-worker of mine, Dean." She introduced.

"Hi," Dean said as he held his hand out. Father Jim returned the shake with a smile.

"Nice to meet you Dean. It seems you've found our newest recruit," he said, leaning down to google at the now-smiling baby.

"Yeah well, leave it to me to pick the winners." He said, shifting towards the priest, hoping he would take the kid off his hands. Father Jim chose that moment to stand up straight, out of reach; a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"So Dean, you work at the fire station with Marris?"

"Uh yeah." Dean awkwardly wiped at the baby's mouth with the corner of the blanket it was currently wrapped in.

Father Jim nodded solemnly. "So you must have been there the other night? …on Walnut Street?"

Dean paused in his ministrations, his mood quickly sobering. "Yeah," Dean answered quietly, "It's a shame."

"Indeed it is." Father Jim nodded slowly in agreement. "I pray every day for Marris here." Said woman blushed slightly, shoving a blond lock behind her ear. "It's not an easy job what you folks do. I admire your dedication."

Dean felt his own cheeks getting a little hot and he started bouncing the baby once more. "Thanks."

"I'll remember to include you in my morning prayers."

Dean gave an embarrassed nod. "Thank you." His eyes darted around nervously in front of the holy man, who just watched him. "You uh… you have a lovely church."

Marris shot him a screwy look. Father Jim gave a small laugh and patted him on the back. "Well thank you Dean, although I can't take credit for it. It was here long before I."

"At least they had the foresight to build a big nursery." Dean rolled his eyes as another baby chose that moment to start wailing. Marris went to appease the child.

"Actually the nursery and children's rooms were originally in the east wing; had been for years. However we've had quite a few 'drop offs' so to speak in the past few years. We had to relocate them here."

Dean nodded, "A lot of pregnant teens huh?"

Father Jim seemed to get a far off look in his eye suddenly as he took in a deep breath. "I suppose." He then gave a slight nod, "It was nice meeting you Dean but I really must get back before the choir finishes."

"Sure thing." Dean shook his hand and watched the man leave.

"What was that all about?" Marris asked curiously, overhearing the conversation.

Dean shrugged, "Who knows?" He looked back down at the little boy in his arms who was smiling contentedly at him. "Can I…?" Dean gestured towards the baby's crib. Marris rolled her eyes in response but nodded.

Dean quickly deposited the little boy back into his bed. He paused to watch him a moment more and read the kid's name on the card. "Paul Brayman." Dean grimaced, feeling sorry for the kid.

"Really?" Marris joined him, taking a closer look at the card as well. "Huh."

"What?"

"There was another 'drop off' a couple months ago with the name Brayman." Marris turned to look across the room. Dean watched her move to a crib along the opposite wall, leaning down to read the card attached to it. "Here she is… Rachel Brayman. I remember coming in one morning and here she was." Marris reached down and teased the little girl who giggled at her. "Oh, you are almost getting to big for this bed," she exclaimed as she lifted the growing baby from its resting place.

Dean's brow quirked as he noticed something hanging off the side of the crib. He tilted his head to get a better look. "What's that?" he gestured lazily.

Marris tilted her head to look at the object. "Oh I don't know. I've seen a few of the toddlers wearing them too. It's some kind of necklace. I never thought to ask."

Dean gave a small nod and then glanced around at the other cribs, not seeing any dangling charms. He turned his head and checked the side of Paul's crib. He blinked as an identical necklace hung off the side, near the baby's head. Reaching out, he fingered the charm, curiously inspecting it.

"Hey Dean."

"Yeah?" he released the necklace, letting it fall back in place and walked across the room towards the other woman.

Marris stood up from her position leaning over a different crib, grinning. "I think this one's calling your name."

Dean got within five feet of the crib and recoiled, throwing a hand up over his nose and mouth again as the smell hit him. Marris laughed loudly and Dean threw her a withering glare as he backed further away. "S'not funny Marris," he mumbled behind his hand, trying to breathe in clean air.

The woman shook her head and leaned against the crib. "Dean Winchester… our hero." Dean hunched over as another gag tried to force its way out.

TBC…


	4. Chapter 3

**Heroes**

By: Maygin

Summary: "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."

- Edmund Burke (1729-1797)

Stupid Thoughts Here: Well I hope some of you are getting hooked. If not, I apologize. I'm not an expert writer, I just like to have fun. So enjoy (hopefully) and let me know what you think!

**Chapter 3**

Two months later

"No, I know that already…look, I'm not asking you to leak anything confidential here, I just want to know if you've gotten any leads." Dean leaned into the phone, trying his best to draw from his shallow pool of patience. Jameson," he said firmly, "just yes or no… come on man, you owe me." Dean listened intently to the silence on the other end before he received a quietly spoken answer. He sighed deeply, rubbing at his eyes. "Yeah alright… thanks."

"Still nothing huh?"

Dean looked across the desk towards the only other occupant in the garage who was currently buttoning up his shirt. He shook his head in confirmation. A respectful silence filled the space between them. A side door in the garage suddenly clanged open and a middle-aged man along with the Rookie walked in.

"Hey, you guys coming?"

Dean took in a deep breath, "Actually I think I'm gonna stick around here."

"Oh no you ain't." The muscular man walked over towards the desk Dean was currently occupying and slapped the tattered brown folder he was looking through closed. "You need to give this a rest. Get up, you're coming."

Dean looked ready to protest, but his stomach seemed to feel the need to make itself known at that moment. The other man quirked an eyebrow at him. Dean rolled his eyes and rose from his chair, grabbing his jacket as he passed.

"Tell me we're not going to Del Rio's."

"Joe's Diner."

"I'm driving."

"Thank God. I thought we were going to have to ride in Schmitty's car."

"Hey!" The older man protested.

**--S-- **

Dean pushed open the diner's door, an obnoxious bell on the side announcing their presence. He followed the guys to their table while he scoped out the other patrons in the small greasy spoon; the regular old-timers that always sat in the same seats at the counter, a few couples seated in the booths and then a few stragglers seated randomly throughout. He waved to a few of the 'regulars' along the counter who greeted him back. He nodded to a young kid seated at the counter watching him as he passed by.

"Boys!" A large black woman shuffled out from the kitchen and greeted them all with hugs. She suddenly stepped back and frowned. "What's the matter Winchester, you gettin tired of my food?"

Dean started, frozen half-way between sitting in his chair and standing. "Ma'am?"

"You been workin too hard boy. I hardly see you anymore."

"Tell me about it," one of Dean's companions spoke up. Dean shot them a glare before turning on the charm.

"Mable, how could I possibly avoid a lovely woman who wants to cook for me?"

Mable laughed loudly, "You are trouble, son. Now sit your butt down and quit lookin at me like that." She grabbed some silverware from a basket on the counter and dropped them onto the table. "Denise! Come over here girl and serve these fine young men."

A young girl, in her late teens who was currently serving coffee to the young man at the counter looked up and smiled respectfully. She gave a small nod to the young man before putting the pot back in the holder and walking over to the group of men still situating themselves.

"Hey guys," She set down some glasses and grabbed a pitcher of water. "What are we havin? Usual?"

They all nodded and she walked off, disappearing into the kitchen. Dean picked up his fork and started toying with it in his hands as he half-listened to the friendly banter passing back and forth at his table and half watching the rest of the diner's occupants. He turned his head as the bell on the door rang and a young couple walked in with three rambunctious kids toeing behind. The children immediately began running around, in and out of the booths and tables. Dean rolled his eyes as one of them accidentally bumped his chair as she ran past screaming at her older brother who apparently had her 'dolly'.

"I hate parents like that." Schmitty remarked quietly as the couple sat down ignoring their children's wild behavior and the glares from the other patrons.

Dean noticed that pretty much everyone in the diner was either watching the little devils or grumbling quietly amongst themselves _about_ the little devils. One of the little boys threw his green ball; it bounced off the floor and rebounded off the counter, right next to the young guy sitting with his fingers pressed firmly into his eyes.

Dean snorted; he couldn't blame the kid… the little brats were starting to give _him_ a headache. His brow quirked as he realized the young guy looked pretty exhausted and run down; long dark bangs drooping in his equally dark eyes. Denise came out of the kitchen with their plates, skillfully avoided being run over by the six year old and set them on their table.

"I'll grab ya'll some coffee okay?" The men murmured thanks as the girl walked back behind the counter. She picked up the coffee pot and said something to the young guy as she passed. Dean watched curiously as she paused, as if waiting for a response from the kid. He could barely hear her over the demon children but he thought she had called him 'Matt'. When she still didn't get a response, she put the pot down and stood in front of him, calling his name again. She rested a hand on his arm and gave it a little shake.

Suddenly one of the kids bumped the wrong table and a glass fell to the floor, shattering the room into brief silence and then the kids started crying, parents started yelling and Mable… Mable in all her glory came storming out of the kitchen telling the young parents exactly what she thought of their parenting skills and ordering the kids to sit their butts down in the chairs.

Dean chuckled as the children sat obediently in the chairs with wide eyes and the parents with even wider eyes, sitting perfectly still. He outright laughed as Mable didn't even give them a chance to order, instead telling them what she would be bringing them and that they would eat every last bite of it.

Schmitty sighed with a grin on his face, "If that woman wasn't a widow I'd marry her."

"What's wrong with widows?" The Rookie asked as he sliced into a pancake.

"Nothin wrong with widows," P.B. spoke up, "it's who they're a widow _of_."

Denise showed up and started pouring coffee into their mugs. Dean glanced towards the counter and was surprised to see the young guy had disappeared; probably got scared when Mable had come storming out and started laying down the law.

"Who is she a widow of?"

"Joe." Denise answered as she wiped up some coffee that had dripped onto the table.

The rookie looked up, "As in Joe's Diner? I thought it was just the name of the diner."

"Nope, he was my step-daddy. Died of cancer a few years back."

"I'm sorry."

Denise shrugged, "He was good man. " She looked at Dean, "You gonna eat that or just continue to ignore it? Cuz mamma will freak if she finds out you ain't eatin her food."

Dean quickly shushed her and frowned nervously, glancing behind him to see if Mable had heard. "Geeze woman… you trying to get me killed?" He picked up his fork and stabbed at a piece of sausage and stuffed the entire thing in his mouth. "Happy?" he muttered around the food as he chewed.

Denise grimaced at him. "And you're supposed to be the charming one." She stated flatly before turning to head back into the kitchen. Dean noticed something dangling from her hand.

"Hey Denise," Dean called and he casually gestured at the charm hanging loosely on a thin leather string in her hand, "Where'd you get that?"

She looked down at the necklace, "Oh it's Matt's. He accidentally left it on the counter before running out of here."

Dean shifted towards her trying not to look too suspicious. "Matt?"

"Yeah, he's one of Mamma's stragglers. Comes in with pocket change a few times a month, but you know Mamma."

"Maternal instincts on over-drive?"

"He really is a sweet guy." She held up the necklace taking a good look at it for the first time. "Weird taste in jewelry though."

Dean recognized the charm, "Huh…"

"Anymore strange men in the diner you'd like me to tell you about?"

"What?" Dean tore his eyes from the necklace and looked up at the young woman's coy expression. He looked at the men around the table and noticed they were all staring at him as well. "No!" he quickly defended. "I didn't- …I was just curious, geeze," he stumbled over his words, feeling his cheeks turn red.

"Mm-hmm." Denise turned and left.

Dean made a face and turned back to his companions who were still staring at him with raised eyebrows. "Shut up and eat your food."

**--S--**

Matthew ran around the corner of the diner and promptly threw up behind a dumpster. He leaned heavily against the brick wall and wiped a hand across his sweaty forehead. Squeezing his eyes shut he kneaded his neck and suddenly realized something was missing. He pulled his shirt out and looked down; the necklace was gone. He cursed his stupidity and winced, grabbing his head again. He shoved off from the wall and stumbled his way down the alley… he had a house to find.

TBC…

SuperHUGE thanks to those of you reviewing! I really needed the encouragement this week :


	5. Chapter 4

**Heroes**

By: Maygin

Summary: "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."

- Edmund Burke (1729-1797)

Note: Thank you guys so much for all the reviews so far! They have been awesome; and really, the whole reason why I post- to bring happiness to others. So keep em coming :)

**Chapter 4**

Dean stepped quietly along the tiled floor, and kneeled beside one of the beds. "Myers," he whispered in the man's face with no response. "Myers," he tried a little louder. He glanced around the room making sure the others were still asleep. He reached over and poked the man hard in the ribs.

"I don't like mushrooms," Myers mumbled. Dean paused and stared at him.

"Okay," he whispered, "no mushrooms… but how about the password to the computer."

"They're evil… evil mushrooms."

Dean rubbed a hand over his face and groaned.

"You know," Dean startled onto his butt as a tired voice spoke up behind him, "he put that password on there for a reason."

Dean turned to the neighboring bed with a hand over his heart. "For cryin out loud Marris, do you enjoy torturing me?" he whispered harshly.

Marris opened sleepy eyes to focus on him in the dark room, "Myers doesn't know the password," she said in a flat whisper.

"What? Myers always knows the password."

"Not anymore."

"Why not?"

"Because P.B. found out he was the one telling you the password."

"So?"

Marris let out a growling sigh and shifted in the bed, clearly annoyed. "So he put the password on there for a reason; so you couldn't use it because he thinks you're obsessed and so you'd get some sleep which is what I'm trying to do and all I've wanted to do all day is just sleep and you're ruining it, you're ruining it Dean," her voice went distinctly into a high-pitched whiney mode and Dean held up his hands in supplication trying to quiet her down.

"Okay, okay that's fine… just- that's fine. Go back to sleep." Dean rose and walked away.

"Thank you." Marris barely whispered as her eyes slipped closed. She felt the warm blanket of sleep envelope her once more.

"Hey Marris?"

She didn't even bother opening her eyes. "Dean…I swear to the unholy realm if you even ask me for the password I will kill you."

Dean watched her; licked his lips and considered the consequences. "Sweet dreams," he conceded and left the room. He quietly closed the door and picked the laptop up from the stairwell where he'd laid it and quietly made his way down.

He pushed through the door into the garage, past the trucks and laid the computer on top of the left desk. He swiveled the chair around and practically fell into it with a defeated sigh. He leaned back and stared at the ceiling, hands behind his head. If he wasn't on the job he'd be in his _own_ apartment using his _own_ computer. He knew he was supposed to be sleeping and he even knew he needed it… but he just couldn't get that necklace out of his minds eye.

Dean Winchester was not a believer of coincidences and his mind had been turning over possible explanations for the past twenty-six years after his mother and baby brother died in a house fire. Everyone was a suspect until proven innocent and the littlest things became leads. Was he foolish enough to think this kid had something to do with the arsonist? No; that would've been a leap, even for him. But he needed something, anything to distract him from his current obsession. And the necklaces had intrigued him; why did only a few of the children have them and why did this random kid on the street have one? Maybe the kid was one of the Church's orphans? Curiosity was definitely Dean's worst enemy; he could never just let anything go.

"Baklava."

Dean's head whipped around. Marris loomed across from him in a pair of sweats and a tank, her hair completely disheveled and looking quite grumpy.

"Wha?" Dean asked, a little thrown.

"The password."

His eyebrows lifted, "The password is baklava?"

Marris blinked at him, her expression unchanging. "Do you want me to spell it out for you?"

Dean sat forward and leaned his arms on the desk, "I know how to spell baklava. Why woul-"

"He didn't think you could spell it." Dean simply blinked at her so she tried again. "He didn't think you could spell baklava and that you'd be too stubborn to actually ask so he made that the new password."

"Oh." Dean's fingers picked up a pen and started toying with it as he chewed on his lip, his eyes roaming around the room. Marris dully watched him without moving. She waited another minute as he squirmed before she sighed, leaned forward and picked up a pad of sticky notes and a pen and started scribbling on it. She tossed the notepad to him and the pen back into the mug; turned and left without another word.

Dean picked up the sticky note and tilted his head. "B-a-…_K_," he said, as if he'd just found the final puzzle piece. He glanced at the door the grumpy woman had exited through. "I_ knew_ it was K," he mumbled to himself.

He leaned forward and pulled the laptop towards him, lifting the lid and booting it up. When the welcome screen popped up, he smiled victoriously and started typing in the password on the keyboard. The computer accepted the password and proceeded to load the desktop. "What the heck is baklava anyways?" he muttered as he waited.

An hour later Dean was still no closer to finding anything even remotely looking like the charm he'd seen earlier. He'd perused more jewelry websites than he'd ever care to admit. He sighed and rested his head on his steepled fingers. "Okay… gotta look at this from a different angle." He chewed on his lip as he stared at the screen, hands poised over the keyboard. "Why would someone put a necklace over a kid's bed?" His hands turned upwards as if waiting for the computer to verbally respond. He blinked, "Maybe like a… dream catcher type thing? …for protection," he blurted out, his gut instinct suddenly typing the words 'protection charms' into the keyboard. Several million results popped up with the ten most popular ones showing. Dean smiled. "Google honey… if you were a woman I'd marry you."

He clicked on the first few promising sites and scrolled around for about twenty minutes before one particular search result caught his eye. "Symbols dot com. Alright, let's see what _you_ have to offer."

Dean leaned back in his chair as he started scrolling through the hundreds of symbols on the page. He paused on one symbol, immediately recognizing it, and clicked on it, opening up its very own page with a brief description.

He picked up the pad of paper and started sketching the symbol on a blank sheet. It looked like three triangles made out of metal all meeting in a central point, with the flat sides facing out. He looked at his sketching trying to compare what he remembered with what he was looking at. He scrolled down and read the description.

'_A plaited sign to denote success and protection against evil forces. It is found on a Sumerian sea. It is an interesting fact that plaited signs are often considered having magic qualities.'_

Dean's forehead crinkled and he read it again. "Magical qualities… what kind of church is this?"

His head whipped up as a loud, wailing siren suddenly filled the building. He reached forward and slapped the computer closed, hurrying across the garage towards the side wall. He grabbed his yellow pants and started sliding them on as the stairwell door suddenly slammed open and the rest of his co-workers came pouring out. They all made familiar, quick work of getting their gear on and into the waiting trucks. Dean grabbed onto a bar next to his head as the truck tore out of the garage and into the dark streets, the red, yellow and blue lights of the siren flashing across his grim face.

"Where's it at?" He called loudly to Myers who was sitting across from him.

"Schmitty said somewhere on Delmar."

Dean gave a short nod. He didn't know why, but something in his gut was screaming at him; they were already too late.

**--S--**

"Winchester, tighten the line!"

Dean moved to quickly tighten the bolt against the wash, ensuring no water was leaking through and the water pressure on the hose was steady. He stood then and pulled his helmet from his head wiping a hand across his sweaty forehead. He watched the flames lick at the walls in starvation as the fire hose did its job; the water slowly eating away at the flames. Black smoke poured out of the charred windows. It was under control… but the damage had already been done.

Dean forcefully threw his hat into the truck, needing some kind of release for his anger. He cursed loudly and leaned against the truck wearily. Across the yard, sitting in an ambulance sat a man covered in soot with red eyes and in an obvious state of shock. The man just stared at the ground, not really seeing anything. Dean recognized that look; he'd seen it on his father's face countless times late at night or in the early mornings. It was the look of a man who'd lost everything he loved, a look of numb acceptance. Dean had resented that look for the longest time. It had taken a few years on the job, seeing the same look on others faces before he realized the very real pain of losing not just a wife, but a child.

"You alright?" Marris tossed her own helmet into the truck, albeit with less anger, and joined him against the truck, watching the fire slowly die out.

Dean watched the scarred house dully reflect the flashing lights of the fire trucks and police cars. "We were too late…" he shifted onto his other leg, "we're always too late."

Marris sighed and quietly stood by. "Not everyone dies Dean."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She didn't look at him; she just slowly shook her head. "We get calls every day. We put out fires every day. We save a lot of people… you're not failing at your job." She paused as the doors to the ambulance were shut and it slowly made its way through the crowds of people and news vans aligning the neighborhood road. "Not everyone dies."

"Marris, give me a hand on this line." One of the men called from the other truck. She gave one last squeeze to her friend's arm before leaving him alone.

Dean sighed and pushed off from the truck. He went around towards the back and started loading up the spare tanks into their rightful places, his eyes glancing at the surrounding crowds as he worked.

He froze, tank in hands, when his eyes caught a familiar face. He carefully set the tank back on the ground without taking his eyes off the kid and slowly raised to his full height, trying to get a better look. The kid… _Matt was it_? He had a hand on his jacket, pulling it across his chest… obviously hiding something underneath. The guy was watching the fire from the back of the crowd, his eyes reflecting the last of the dying flames, a forlorn expression on his face. He seemed to suddenly sense he was being watched though as his dark eyes found Dean's.

They just stared at one another for a few moments; communicating silently… what, Dean had no idea. But as the light from the police car nearby illuminated his face, Dean could clearly see black soot smeared across his cheek. Dean's brow quirked; no one else in the surrounding crowd had any smoke or black ash on them. He drew in a deep breath ready to call out to him when a loud snapping sound followed by an enormous crash erupted into the air. Dean's head whirled around in time to see the top floor of the once quaint, two-story house suddenly collapse in on itself.

Dean looked back to the crowd. The kid had disappeared, again.

**--S--**

Dean jumped down from the truck as it slowed to a stop in the garage. He noticed a cop car trailing behind them into the driveway. "You got that?" Dean pointed to one of the extra tanks that P.B. was currently lifting to put it in their 'refill' stock. The man nodded and waved him on.

Dean grabbed a clean rag from one of the many compartments on the truck and walked up to the police car. "Jameson," he held out his hand to the uniformed man that wearily climbed out and extended his own hand. He started wiping at his face with the rag, covering it with black smears.

"So… do I even need to ask?" Jameson inquired tiredly.

Dean shook his head as he ran the rag over the back of neck. "Same thing. Started on the ceiling." He tossed the rag onto the hood of the other man's car and then leaned against it. "I'm sure you'll get the inspectors report sometime tomorrow morning."

"It _is_ tomorrow morning."

"Really?"

"Five-forty."

"Huh… so what'd the dad say?"

"Same thing… working late, came home, house was already on fire." Jameson's brow furrowed. "He did say something kinda weird though." Dean tilted his head towards him, waiting as the other man shifted and rested his hands on his belt, looking a little perplexed. "He said he actually made it into the room… the wife he didn't see anywhere, but the crib was still somewhat in one piece… covered in flames, but still in one piece."

Dean gave a small nod, not quite sure if he really wanted to hear the rest of the story.

"I don't know if he was just in denial or what, but he was pretty adamant that the baby wasn't in the crib."

Dean kicked at a small pebble on the concrete, "The room was probably full of smoke at that point… it's probably why he didn't see his wife either."

"Yeah that's what I figured… but he was pretty sure of himself."

"They always are until they see the lab results."

The other man drew in a quick breath, "Actually we haven't had any lab results on most of the baby victims in the last… two years I'd say."

Dean frowned at that and looked at the man beside him. "What are you talking about?"

Jameson shrugged, "The techs haven't been able to find any remains of the babies in the ashes. The mothers we always get at least some kind of either dental or bone testing. The experts are sayin it's cuz the kids bodies are still developing and with the heat index of those fires… they think the flames just…"

Dean nodded, not needing further imagery. "You said _most_ of the babies."

"Yeah well there _have_ been about two that we've actually found results on."

"Two confirmations in the last two years?" Dean started adding up in his head, "And we've had about what… eight of these in that time?"

"Yeah, sounds about right."

Dean pushed off from the car and turned to face the other man. "How sure are they that these kids actually died in those fires?"

Jameson blinked; this obviously being the first objection he'd heard on the subject. "Dean… this case goes back like fifty years. In all that time it's always been a mother and her six month old child. Why would he suddenly decide to change his M/O?"

Dean held a hand up, mid-shrug, "He's a psycho! I thought the whole reason we called them psychos was because they do stupid things for no reason!"

"Yeah I get that, but come on man… what could he possibly want with those kids?"

"How should I know? But you of all people should know that there are messed up people out there doin all kinds of sick things to kids these days."

"Yeah I know," Jameson conceded. "Look… if it makes you feel any better I'll look into it." Dean gave him an obvious nod. "But it's not gonna make much of a difference if we can't even find the guy."

Dean looked down and sighed. "Yeah alright. You headed home?"

The other man pushed off from his car rolling his eyes. "I wish. I've got a mountain of papers to go through, not to mention that inspector who'll be stopping by later. What about you?"

"I'm headed to church." Dean spouted off casually.

Jameson froze; his car door half open. "Come again?"

Dean sent him an impatient look, "Do you have a problem with God?"

The other man held up his hands in surrender, a grin on his face. "You're a braver man than I Winchester."

"Whatever, give Marci my condolences."

"For what?" the other man asked, perplexed.

"For wakin up next to your ugly mug all these years."

Jameson flipped him off before dropping into his car and starting it up.

"Hey Jameson!" Dean called out. The other man rolled his passenger window down. "Do you know how to spell Baklava?"

Jameson made a face, "B-a-k-l-a-v-a."

Dean sucked in his bottom lip with a slow nod. "Huh," he said, turned around and went back inside the garage.

TBC…


	6. Chapter 5

**Heroes**

By: Maygin

Summary: "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."

- Edmund Burke (1729-1797)

Authors Note: I have nothing to note… but hi! Great to see ya back :

**Chapter 5**

"So what's the deal?" Dean turned to the woman currently laying a baby some parent had just dropped off into its assigned crib. He gave her an impatiently confused look as he picked up a few scattered toys. "You haven't wanted to revisit the '_Saw_' torture chamber since your last visit two months ago… why the sudden interest again?"

Dean tossed the toys back into a bin in the corner of the room, searching for a good excuse. "I just… wanted to offer something back to the community."

Marris smirked, "I thought you said the Great Dean Winchester was an offering in and of itself to the community."

"Apparently they just can't get enough of me."

Marris rolled her eyes, "Whatever, I'm gonna go see if the bottles are warm yet." She paused at the doorway with a grin, "You gonna be alright here all by your lonesome?"

Dean frowned at her and then addressed the room full of cribs, "Alright, who here wants Marris to stay, raise your hands." He made a show of looking around and then gave a mock-sincere shrug as if to say, _I don't know what to tell ya_.

"Your father must've been a saint. Do me a favor and take attendance while I'm out?" She tapped the clip board hanging on the wall before closing the door to the nursery.

Dean picked the clip board off the wall and perused it as he walked to the middle of the room. "Okay… Davidson," he bent down a little to better see the identification cards slotted in the cribs. "Check… Macavey…check, Ellis, check… Brayman- Paul," He looked to the far wall, "check. Brayman- Rachel… check." He paused, frowning at the attendance sheet. "Brayman… Sarah." He searched the room, finally coming to a crib labeled 'Sarah Brayman'.

The little girl watched him with a small happy face, sucking on her fingers. Dean leaned down and read the hand-written identification card. "Sarah Brayman -- Date of Birth Unknown -- Church Member as of September 24th, 2006." Dean blinked, "That was yesterday," he mumbled out loud.

He stood to his full height again and stared down at the little girl who stared back with wide, curious eyes. He tilted his head as a thought suddenly occurred to him. He leaned forward and checked the side of the crib… sure enough at the head hung a necklace exactly like the other Brayman's.

"I see you found our newest inductee."

Dean whirled around to see Father Jim walking into the room. "Uh yeah… cute as a button," he smiled appeasingly.

"You'll have to forgive me but, I didn't expect to see you again Dean. Last time you were here you seemed a bit… uncomfortable."

"Yeah well, I like to keep people on their toes," he replied smoothly.

The Father grinned knowingly, "I'm sure you do." He reached down and teased the little girl below him. Dean stood by awkwardly. Father Jim noticed, "I like to come here while the choir sings," he explained. "Our music minister is a very passionate man… but you know what they say; without a well trained army, a great leader among men is simply just another man."

Dean snorted and then casually leaned against the wall. "So how did this one come into your hands?" He gestured to the newest recruit.

Father Jim smiled lovingly down at the child. "She was left on the doorstep last night. Whoever left her rang the doorbell and ran. Never got a good look at them."

Dean nodded, arms crossed over his chest. "Does that happen a lot?"

The Father paused, eyes fixing on the other man. "Does what happen a lot?"

"People just leavin their babies and running."

Father Jim stood now facing the other man. "I suppose it happens here and there."

"What about the other kids in here? Any of them come to you like that?"

The other man watched Dean warily, carefully choosing his words. "A few."

Dean nodded again, looking down at the painfully bright colored carpet. "Why Brayman?"

Father Jim tilted his head in confusion. "I'm sorry, I don't understand the question."

"A few of the kid's last names are Brayman… I'm assuming they're your 'drop offs'." He shrugged, "I'm just curious why you use the name Brayman."

The Father's eyes lowered slightly, becoming slightly distant. "Jeremiah Brayman… he was a church member here many years ago, though he traveled all over the country. He was a great servant among God's children." He looked back down at the squirming baby, a nostalgic smile on his face. "He died a long time ago."

Dean's interrogation mode wilted away at the genuine look of respect the Father so obviously held for the dead guy. He cleared his throat, "How did he die?"

The Father's eyes locked onto Dean's, "Protecting another."

A sudden clearing of throat sounded from across the room. Both men's heads turned to see a short, curly-gray haired woman wringing her hands and looking quite nervous. "I'm sorry to disturb you Father… but I think it's time for you to take the pulpit. The choir is already into the seventh verse of 'How Great Thou Art'."

The Father's head jerked slightly with a frown. "I thought there were only four verses to that song."

"There are." The elder woman said with a knowing look.

Father Jim took in a suddenly urgent, deep breath and turned an apologetic smile to the younger man beside him. "It looks as if I'm needed… desperately."

Dean snorted and waved the man out. Marris stepped into the room with a confused look on her face.

"What took you so long?" He asked accusingly.

She set the crate of bottles down on a small table. "Well, I stopped to use the restroom on my way back and it was as if the entire congregation had suddenly decided to take a bathroom break." Her face screwed up as she thought back. "I think some of them were crying."

Dean laughed out loud.

**--S--**

"Hey Dad!" Dean pushed his way through the door with a large brown-paper bag in one hand; the other jiggling the key, trying to get it un-stuck. "Where ya at?"

"Kitchen," Came the distant reply.

"I got Chinese," he announced, twisting the key back and forth.

"I thought you were getting pizza," his father called back.

"Yeah well I got Chinese instead."

John Winchester appeared in the front hall of his apartment and casually leaned against the wall with a beer in his hand, watching his only son with growing amusement.

"You know-" Dean set the bag down finally and kneeled before the door with great annoyance, yanking forcefully on the key, "I keep tellin ya to get this stupid thing fixed. I mean you take apart and put together car engines every day and you're telling me you can't fix one lousy friggin lock?" The key suddenly pulled free just as Dean gave a mighty jerk, splaying him across the floor with a thud.

John smiled down at his boy who simply laid there glaring up at him. "It works fine for me."

"Of course it does." Dean slowly rolled to his feet and snatched the bag from the floor, kicking the door closed before following his father into the living room. "So what'd you get tonight?"

"I don't know; some movie with Bruce Willis. You want a beer?"

"Yeah." Dean set the bag of food down on the coffee table and picked up the DVD sitting on the television. "Sixth Sense- hey I've heard this is pretty good. I've been wantin to see it."

"Good," John walked back into the room, "head's up." He tossed a beer to his son who caught it expertly.

"Thanks. Hey I gotta make a call real quick, be right back."

"I'll get it set up."

Dean pulled his cell from his back pocket and walked into the front hall hitting a speed dial. He grabbed the stairwell and sat on the second step, listening to the ringing. "Jameson, it's me. Yeah, I was wondering if you could do me a favor," he paused, his brow furrowing. "What do you mean I've already met my quota for the year?" He listened a little more. "Whatever man; need I remind you who introduced you to Marci in the first place?" He nodded, vindicated. "Uh-huh. Look, I need a background check on a guy… the name's Jeremiah Brayman; died a while ago." He switched the phone to his other ear. "I don't know, maybe ten… twenty years back. May as well do thirty just to be safe." Dean winced as he listened to the other man's protests. "Well that's all I got," he defended. "Wait, wait, wait… he was a member of the church on eighth street for a long time. Can you cross reference their records?" Dean rolled his eyes, "Yeah I _know _you're a busy man, but that's what you've got rookies for right?" He grinned knowingly. "Yeah, well while they're at it, can I get a broad search listing of the victims who've died in these arson fires in the last- say… three years? No, just the kids." Dean kneaded his forehead. "Yeah… yeah okay. Thanks man."

He flipped the phone shut and sighed before dragging his weary body back into the living room. "Hey, do you know how to spell Baklava?"

John swallowed the beer he'd just taken a swig of. "It's with a 'K'," he answered flatly without turning to look at him.

"No, I _know_ how to spell it," Dean answered defensively. "I just want to know if _you_ know how to spell it."

John turned apathetic eyes towards his son. "They change the password again?"

Dean glared at his father. "Start the movie."

John grabbed the controller and turned it on. "You _do_ know this isn't a porno right?"

Dean's head jerked around. "Are you serious?"

John slouched further into his chair shaking his head, "If I hadn't seen you come out of your mother's ass myself, I'd swear you weren't my kid."

Dean suddenly choked on his beer, mid-swallow. John grinned and took a long swig of his own.

**TBC…**


	7. Chapter 6

**Heroes**

By: Maygin

Summary: "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."

- Edmund Burke (1729-1797)

It's a short chapter, but I'll be uploading chapter 7 on Saturday so you won't have a long wait. Thank you all again for your reviews!!!

**Chapter 6**

Dean flipped the newspaper over, glancing up every once in a while to peruse the other occupants in the diner. He'd come early and sat his butt down in the furthest booth from the diner's entryway. Mable had already forced him to eat an entire buffet of breakfast foods and had made it clear to the head waitress that she was to keep a close eye on him… keep his water filled and his tummy happy. He sometimes wondered if this was what it was like to have a mother.

He sighed and turned the page on the paper; he'd read through the entire thing twice already. He'd been sitting in the same booth for the last three and a half hours, with the exception of a few very short bathroom breaks. He knew it was a long shot; Denise had said he only came a few times a month anyways. But he was betting his money on the necklace the kid had left behind.

Sure enough, the annoying little bell suddenly announced the presence of the tall, brown haired kid who stepped to the side and held the door open for an elderly woman who was leaving. Dean's eyes followed him to the counter where he slid onto one of the red, sparkly bar stools and waited for someone to notice him.

Mable walked out of the kitchen and spied the young man instantly. She smiled widely and reached forward to squeeze his hands that rested on the countertop. "Matthew, honey! I haven't seen you in forever!"

Matt laughed quietly, looking down bashfully. "I was just here a few days ago Mable."

"You were?" She questioned in her boisterous voice, though it was obvious she knew perfectly well he had been. He nodded anyways, simply to appease her. "Well it feels like forever. You hungry? Marcus has been tryin his hand at Crepe's this morning. They're not too bad if you smother em in strawberries."

Matt shook his head politely with a smile, "Actually I just stopped by to pick up the necklace I left here. Denise said she'd put it behind the counter?"

"Oh yeah, she did mention that." Mable started rifling through the many containers behind the counter. "Here it is," she triumphantly held up the necklace and dropped it in his waiting hand.

"Thanks Mable." He stuffed the object into his raggedy jacket pocket for safekeeping. "Can I please also get a coffee to go?"

"Of course you can," she gushed, happy to offer him something. She grabbed a to-go cup and the pot of coffee from behind her and filled it to the brim. She topped it off and set it on the counter. "Here you go sweetie."

"Thanks," Matt pulled an old, torn wallet from his back pocket and started to pull out a couple dollars.

"I got it." Dean slapped a five dollar bill on the counter and sat down next to the surprised kid with a smile.

Mable grinned at the other man knowingly, "You be good Winchester," she pointed at him.

"I'm always good," he assured. She huffed good-naturedly and then disappeared back into the kitchen.

"Name's Dean." Dean held out his hand to which the other man stared at warily for a moment before his senses kicked back in.

"Matt," the young man offered, shaking his hand while he put his wallet away. "Thanks."

"I've seen you in here a few times, thought I'd introduce myself," he explained. Matt nodded his head in acceptance, though it was obvious he was still incredibly leery of him. "You go to college around here?"

Matt licked his lips, considering his answer. He shook his head. "No, I uh… I travel around a lot."

"Oh yeah? For work?"

The other man tilted his head slightly, "Yeah sort of."

"Sort of?"

Matt shrugged, picking at his fingernails. "It's kind of a long story."

"Sounds like it." Dean watched the other man fidget under his stare. "So where'ya from?"

"Around here."

"Yeah? Were you born here?"

Matt started scratching the grooves in the counter with his thumb nail. "I don't know, I uh… I was abandoned as a kid."

Dean started chewing on his bottom lip, wondering how much he could get out of the kid before he just up and ran. "Your last name wouldn't happen to be Brayman would it?"

Matt froze, looking much to like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. The pathetically guarded look on the kids face almost made Dean want to take him home himself as if he were some kind of stray puppy. He suddenly understood Mable's need to spoil the boy.

He figured the lack of answer was all the affirmation he needed. "You know the little church on Eighth Street? I'm willing to bet you spent a lot of time there growin up huh?" Dean jerked his head a little, "Probably know Father Jim?"

Matt still didn't answer him; he just stared at him with wide eyes, looking ready to bolt out the front door. Dean stared hard, demanding some kind of response. "What were you doing on Delmar the other night Matt?"

Matt turned back to his coffee, gripping it tightly; wide green eyes begging for an escape route. Dean saw it and knew it the moment it flashed in the kid's eyes; but he'd still been unable to prevent it.

Ricky, the bus-boy, had just been passing behind them with a big, tub-full of dishes when Matthew decided to make a run for it. He had to give the kid credit; it had been perfectly timed. Dean had turned to make a grab at him and ran smack into Ricky; an entire symphony of smashing dishes filled the unusually quiet diner. He grabbed the bus-boy's arm to prevent him from falling into the shards of glass and porcelain that now littered the floor.

The once-quiet diner erupted into cheers and clapping at their misfortune. Dean ignored it all as he watched Matthew Brayman sprinting down the street, disappearing behind a building.

**TBC…**

I know, I know… short. But like I said, I'll upload chap 7 on Saturday. Thank you again for reading!


	8. Chapter 7

**Heroes**

By: Maygin

Summary: "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."

Edmund Burke (1729-1797)

And here it is as promised… chapter 7! I would just like to send out a quick thank you to Carikube once more… because the more reviews I'm reading, the more I'm realizing she practically threatened people to read this… and I really have no qualms with that (Dean's rubbin off on me). So, thank you Carikube for your disturbing persistence (j/k, you know I luv ya!) And Fireman Phil… thanks for your indebt reviews and support! There are a lot of people who have reviewed and been so very kind and I'm sorry I haven't been able to reply to everyone, but thankyouthankyouthankyou!! You have totally overinflated my ego and I think I kinda like that feeling ;) Okay- crap over – enjoy the chappie.

**Chapter 7**

Dean stormed into the Firehouse a half hour late for his shift.

"Where have you been?" P.B. casually inquired as he looked up from a pile of paperwork he was sorting through.

Dean grabbed the edge of the desk and leaned on it, rolling his neck. "There was a bit of an accident at Mable's."

That caused the other man to pause in his work, "Is she alright?"

"Yeah, it was nothing like that," Dean quickly waved the thought away. "I just had a bit of a run-in with the bus boy and now I'm out fifty bucks."

P.B. snickered at the other man. "That's it?"

Dean conceded, falling into the chair behind the other desk. "I offered to pay more but she wouldn't take it."

"Yeah I wouldn't imagine she would. That woman has five kids under her belt, not to mention all her 'projects' she likes to drag in outta the rain… you were one of those you know?"

Dean was actually a little taken aback by that. "What?"

"Yeah, back when you and your old man first moved to Chicago; I guess you were still a kid- I can't believe you haven't heard this story yet, she loves telling it to all of _us_ over and over and over-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Dean impatiently waved him on to continue.

"So your dad apparently stopped in the diner with you just as it was closing one night… Mable had just locked the door as your daddy got out of the car holding you in his arms." P.B. gave a little laugh and smiled. "Mable said you were a pretty goofy lookin kid."

"What?!" Dean looked slightly offended.

"Oh yeah…," he stated flippantly, "so anyways, she saw you and said she couldn't walk away. She invited you two in, cooked you something up and then took you into her own home for the night until your father could find an apartment the next day." P.B. studied the man quietly staring off into space. "You don't remember any of that?"

Dean shook his head slowly, "Mom had just died the night before… I really don't remember much after that until a few years down the road."

"Well they say that happens to a lot of people… something tragic happens and they just kind of shut down for a while. Can't remember things because the tragedy is always at the forefront of their thoughts."

"Huh," Dean chewed on his bottom lip, processing this unknown piece of his life.

"Course," P.B. refocused on the papers in front of him, "we always knew you was messed up in the head." Dean drew in a deep breath, not choosing to argue that one. "Jameson stopped by earlier," P.B. glanced over at the other desk, gesturing to a thick folder laying on top, "dropped that off for you."

Dean looked down at the folder in front of him, "Already? What a suck up."

P.B. snorted. "I suppose this means you'll be working on _that_ all night," he stated rather than actually questioned, not even bothering to look at the other man as he read through a report.

"Maybe, why you need help with something?"

The other man shook his head. "Uh-uh man, I refuse to let you use _me_ as an excuse to pull another all-nighter."

Dean held up his hands in surrender, "Fine with me, don't ever say I didn't offer."

"Hey P.B.," Myers stumbled into the Garage, "Captains on the phone upstairs, says he wants to talk to you about a budgeting issue or something?"

"Okay, send it on down."

Myers paused, a dumb look on his face. "How do I do that?"

P.B. looked up at the other man and then pushed out of his chair with a sigh. "Never-mind, I'll come up."

"Kay," Myers ran back up the stairs.

P.B. passed between the desks, rolling his eyes. Dean snorted, "Go get im Tiger." The other man responded with his middle finger before exiting the garage.

Dean looked at the folder eagerly flipping it open and started rifling through the papers. He pulled a binder clip off a stack of papers with colorful paper clips separating them. He started reading through the list of names, recognizing some of the infant victims that had died in the arson fires from his own investigations and on the news. He leaned forward and yanked a wrinkled piece of notebook paper from his back pocket and smoothed it out next to the stack of baby victims.

"Okay," he flexed his fingers and then read the first line of hand-scribbled information on the crinkled paper, "Rachel Brayman; Date of Birth unknown; church member as of April 30th, 2006." His eyes flitted over to the stack of other papers and he started searching through them, skimming over the nicely typed information. He paused on one paper, his eyebrows raising. "Tara Reed, Date of Birth- November 29th, 2005. Died… April 29th, 2006."

He licked his lips and then read the next line on the wrinkled paper. "Paul Brayman; Date of Birth unknown; church member as of July 15th, 2006." He shuffled through the other papers, pulling one out with a tilt of his head, "Timothy Harding, Date of Birth January 14th, 2006. Died, July 14th, 2006."

He took a deep breath and looked at the last name on his hand-scrawled note. "Sarah Brayman; Date of Birth unknown; church member as of September 24th, 2006." His head swiveled to the side, and pulled out a sheet from the middle that looked promising. "Alyson Briggs, Date of Birth March 23rd, 2006. Died, September 23rd, 2006," Dean finished, dropping the paper with a weary sigh and hiding his face behind his hands.

The arson case had just gotten a whole lot more complicated. He couldn't figure out the connection to the church. It couldn't be as simple as government support; stealing babies for financial childcare support. Dean shook his head; there was just something so wrong about that scenario. He quickly dumped the idea. He sighed and glanced at the remaining stack of baby victims. Apparently Jameson had found it humorous to ask their rookie to gather reports on _ALL_ the baby victims in surrounding states as well. "Definitely a suck-up," Dean mumbled, remembering being a rookie himself not more than six years ago.

He lazily flipped through the other victim reports but stopped on one. He slowly slid it from the pile and rested it before him.

_Samuel Winchester_

_Date of Birth: May 2nd, 1983_

_Died: November 2nd, 1983_

Dean stared at the three simple lines. A whole life wrapped up in three short lines. He shook his head sadly at the injustice of it all and then slid the sheet to the side, pulling out a separately stapled document. He read the name along the top, "Jeremiah Brayman." A small grin pulled at the corner of his mouth, "Just what do you have to do with all this?" He started reading through the dead man's profile, seemingly impressed. "Guess you're exactly who the priest said you were."

Dean's eyes froze on one line in the report. "Died, November 3rd, 1983 in Kansas City, Kansas." He swallowed thickly, the lump in his throat becoming slightly painful. He read through the coroner's report, "…died of severe internal bleeding… had third degree burns along his arms and legs… was found dead in his hotel room. No signs of fire in hotel."

Dean brought a hand up across his mouth; a million thoughts suddenly fighting for attention in his head.

"Dean." Marris said as if she'd already called his name a couple times. She stood across from him, staring at him worriedly, "You okay? You look like death warmed over."

Dean blinked a few times, gathering his wits about him and then started shoving the papers back into the folder. "I gotta go."

"What?" Marris was obviously very worried at this point. "Dean you can't, you're on duty."

Dean stood and walked around the desks, "Call one of the back-ups. I've gotta go, it's an emergency."

She followed after him as he strode determinedly towards the garage's exit. "Wait- is it your dad? Is he sick?"

"No, Marris-" he stopped suddenly, turning to face her with a raised hand, "look I promise, I'll explain everything when I get back okay?"

Marris' shoulders slumped in defeat and she gave a small nod. He turned and continued his trek. "Just make sure you do," she called after him.

"What's that?" he turned at the door, leaning his back against it.

"Get back."

Dean winked at her and then pushed the door open and made his exit.

TBC...


	9. Chapter 8

**Heroes**

By: Maygin

Summary: "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." -Edmund Burke (1729-1797)

Finally… the great unveiling has come to pass. I know I've been dragging you guys along, stretching it as painfully as possible ;) Anyways, I hope this chapter explains a few things.

**Chapter 8**

Father Jim hurried to the thick oak door that acted as the entry way to the old church in downtown Chicago. A loud pounding was sounding from it; an impatient individual that was obviously not going to be ignored. He flipped the heavy bolts and pulled it open slightly revealing an irate young man.

"Dean," he greeted warily.

"Father," Dean pushed passed him into the front hall. "We need to talk."

The Father wiped a tired hand across his eyes, "Dean, I realize you're new to ways of the church, but confessional isn't until-"

"Whose bringin you the kids?" Dean cut him off impatiently.

Father Jim looked dumfounded. "I'm sorry?"

Dean held up the folder with the papers messily hanging out, "Tara Reed, Timothy Harding, Alyson Briggs… any of these names ringin a bell?" he sneered.

The Father stared at the folders with a resigned expression. He let out a weary sigh before giving a small nod and gesturing for the younger man to follow him. They entered the Father's office that had a connecting door to his personal quarters. He motioned towards a chair in front of the old, ornate desk, falling into his own chair. Dean dropped the folder in front of the priest, but declined to sit… or rather defiantly ignored the chair behind him entirely.

The Priest looked down at the folder for a moment before carefully opening it; already guessing at what lay within.

Dean didn't wait for him to read through them, "You've had three babies dropped into your hands in the last year. Each arrived exactly _one_ day after an arson fire." He tapped his finger on the opened folder emphasizing his point. "Interestingly enough, you choose to name all the kids Brayman… a man who just so happened to die exactly one day after an arson fire back in 1983." The Father folded his hands before him on the desk and calmly looked at the other man. Dean tilted his head, "And why do I get the feeling if we were to take a look at your records we'd find a lot more 'drop offs' that match the dates of the other fires?"

He watched the Holy man expectantly who raised his folded hands to his chin with a resigned sigh. "There's more going on here than you realize Dean," he said softly and without insult.

Dean flung his arms out, "Well by all means, explain it to me."

Father Jim chewed on his lip behind his clasped hands, staring at the desk. "It requires more than a simple avowal," his eyes flickered up to gaze hard at the younger man, "What you're asking for requires a deeper level of faith to believe and courage to endure."

Dean's brow quirked in annoyance, "What are we talking about God here?"

Jim tilted his head a little, "In some sense, yes."

Dean ran a frustrated hand over his face, "Look, I didn't come here to be evangelized; I came here looking for answers. Answers as to why this church has been knowingly accepting supposed victims from an outside source and denying their remaining family members the right to raise them." Dean stared down hard at the other man. "Answers that could incriminate not just you, but all the sweet old ladies you've got running around here taking care of these kids during the week. And if that happens, you're lookin at jail time-"

"The children are marked Dean." Father Jim cut the younger man off firmly. He needed Dean to realize the seriousness of what he was about to reveal.

Dean paused in his rant as the Father interrupted him. "Marked," he said flatly.

"Yes marked… in other words a large target of supernatural value was placed over their heads for reasons beyond your understanding."

Dean blinked, his eyebrows raised. "Supernatural value."

"Yes, by a very evil; a very powerful demon."

Dean finally allowed himself to sit in the chair, slouching back and crossing his arms across his chest with a skeptical look. "Is that right?"

"We call him the Fire Demon."

"And '_we_' are…?"

"Myself and others who are aware of the Spiritual Warfare currently plaguing the world around us."

Dean actually chuckled, "Sounds like you got a little club goin on there Father."

"Like I said, a deeper level of faith."

Dean's grin slipped, un-amused. "Okay… let's say this _demon_ is the cause for all these fires; why the mother and the kid? Why not the dad… or hell, why not just the kid if he's the one marked?"

"It's complicated." He answered plainly.

"Not good enough." Dean responded in kind.

Father Jim's brow quirked, "I've got a better question for you Dean; in all the investigations in the last fifty years, have any of the fathers or remaining family members ever reported having actually witnessed the mothers deaths?"

The younger man watched him a moment before giving a small, casual shrug. "Why don't you tell me?"

"Let me paint a picture for you; a father comes home after a late night run to a supermarket. The father goes upstairs to find his wife only she's not in bed," he shrugged, "so he checks the baby's nursery." He paused seemingly for effect, watching Dean's suddenly deeply guarded expression. "When he walks in he sees only the child in its crib. After checking on the child he realizes something isn't right… he glances up, to the ceiling. And there… pinned to the ceiling by some unseen force is his wife, blood dripping from a slash across her belly. He calls out to her when suddenly flames burst from her wound and swallow her up, quickly spreading across the ceiling, consuming the crib and baby as well."

Dean didn't move; he didn't exactly know how to respond to that. "Lovely story," he said, trying not to combine his own past experience with what the Father had just said. The thought of his own mother and baby brother dying like that was too much.

"It's called a blood sanctification. When sacrificial blood is spilt over the head of someone who is blessed and then consumed in fire; that _someone_, in this case the baby, is not only killed, but their blessing is abolished."

Dean waved his hands in the air, sitting up in his chair, "Whoa, whoa, whoa… blessing?"

"Not your typical blessing."

"Okay then what?"

The Father tilted his head, "Well it's been different for different people. In some cases it's been simple things like discernment and wisdom; an individual is overly gifted in discerning situations and making wise decisions."

Dean frowned, confused, "So an extremely powerful demon wants a four-eyed genius dead because…"

"Some people believed Napoleon Bonaparte had the gift of discernment and wisdom…" he held his hand up lazily, "and look at what he did."

"Okay, so extremely wise people make good leaders… what else are we lookin at?"

"Any number of things Dean; you'll find most of the blessings are gifts that we tend to scoff at or pass over without a thought."

"Like…" Dean encouraged, though not without annoyance.

"Like, I don't know… someone who can breathe underwater or see in the dark; unnatural strength, telekinesis, healing-"

"What?" Dean stared, trying to sort this crazy man's story out in his head.

The Father lifted his hands in surrender, "Most mythical tales and superstitions come from some form of truth… it's just a matter of finding the truth back to it's original roots."

Dean just stared at the other man. "You actually know a guy that can breathe underwater?" he asked flatly.

"No. However I did hear of one a while back." Father Jim shifted forward in his chair, the leather squeaking in protest, "Look, Dean… the point is, these people that are gifted; these babies… they were gifted for a reason."

"To fight this demon," Dean hazarded. When the other man tilted his head back a bit seemingly impressed, he tried again. "Or any other evil thing out there... kinda like a special forces."

"For God's own purposes." He watched the younger man a moment more, "We are not alone in this world. The Father has given us the means to fight back."

Dean dropped his head, feeling slightly uncomfortable beneath the Holy man's stare. Was he actually considering this? Sure, he'd been looking for answers, but this was just a little ridiculous. "So all these fires…" he looked up again, "this fire demon is trying to stop these kids from growing up and using their gifts? From killing it?"

"It's scared of their potential," the Father confirmed.

"And the mothers… why them?"

"The theory is that when a blessed individual dies, their gift is passed on to another. Now it would do no good to the demon to kill the blessed one if the gift was simply passed on to another-"

"So he destroys the blessing itself."

Father Jim pointed at him, "Exactly. And just as the only way to escape eternal death is by a sinless sacrifice… so too, the only way to kill a blessing is by sacrificial blood; in this case maternal blood."

"So the demon kills the mother over the kids crib and then consumes them both in fire… killing the kid _and_ the blessing."

"Do you understand now why it is impertinent that these children remain under our protection?"

Austere green eyes found the older man's; disapproving, yet accepting. "Whose bringing you these babies?"

"A blessed individual who has the gift of prophecy."

"Fortune telling," Dean stated flatly.

"Visions. Fragmented visuals of future events; sometimes easily discernable, sometimes not."

"So he's been seeing the murders before they're happening and saving the kids. Why not the mothers?"

"As I said before, these visions are not always easily discernable. Sometimes he _does_ make it in time to save both… sometimes he doesn't. Those would be the fires you're called upon to stop."

Dean sat quietly for a few moments, trying to decide whether or not he should continue his flight over the cuckoo nest or get the heck outta dodge while he still could. His eyes flitted over the papers splayed across the Father's desk. He saw the names on the reports, the names of children who would grow up defending against the dark. "Matthew Brayman is the one bringing you those kids…" green eyes looked up into blue, "he's the one with the visions… isn't he."

The Father looked mildly surprised. "What do you know of Matthew?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"I know he grew up here; I know he wears one of those protective charms around his neck like your other gifted kids here. And I know I saw him the other night at the fire on Delmar Street."

Father Jim gave a small nod. "Matthew was brought to me years ago by the man you asked me about the other day."

"Jeremiah Brayman."

"In fact, Matthew was the last child he saved."

"He died saving him?" he asked, but then tilted his head back as he remembered the other man's words from before, repeating them, "-protecting another."

Father Jim nodded. "Pulled him from the fire though not without serious injury to himself. He called me after he escaped asking me to meet him in Kansas City." Dean froze; dates and wild implications all fighting for attention in his head while his heart decided to plummet into his stomach. "When I got there Jeremiah was already dead, Matthew was sleeping peacefully in the bed next to him. I picked him up and brought him back here. I raised him until he hit ten years of age in which time he went into the government's foster system."

Dean brought a hand up to cover his mouth, trying very hard to remind his lungs that breathing was a good thing. He swallowed thickly. "Do you by any chance know the name of the family?" At the Father's confused look, he glanced down, again trying to swallow down the lump lodged in his throat. "His original family… his birth name."

Father Jim's brow furrowed slightly in thought, "Winchester I believe… why?"

Dean felt as if he'd been sucker punched. He couldn't breathe, which didn't really matter as he couldn't remember why he needed to breathe in the first place. All he knew was that there was no turning back now. What was once lost had suddenly been found. He didn't want to believe it because convenience of perpetual ignorance and daily life was easier to deal with… and yet at the same time, every fiber in his being wanted to believe his little brother had survived the fire and was out there… somewhere. He gave a small shake of his head, feeling his eyes burn. There was no denying it; he believed every last word this man had given him. He couldn't turn back now… not with the possibility that his baby brother was still alive and possibly in danger still.

"Dean?" Father Jim inquired warily; he'd seen the younger man suddenly clam up; struggling with some inner battle.

Dean ran the hand across his lips before slowly reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a brown leather wallet. He silently pulled out a small card, carefully placed it on the desk, and then with a single finger, slid it across the smooth wood.

Father Jim peered down at the other man's driver's license… and he suddenly understood. He looked back up at the young man, seeing him for the first time in an entirely different light. It made sense now as to why this particular individual had such a single-minded obsession and passion to finding this arsonist. He didn't know what to say; he'd never been prepared to have to actually face one of the surviving family members. "Dean Winchester," he said out loud, feeling as if verbal confirmation made it a little less surreal. "…I didn't realize Matthew had an older brother."

Dean stared hard at the other man, "Would it have mattered?"

He didn't really have to consider the answer, but he at least had the decency to sound apologetic. "No."

Dean gave a small nod, sniffing back an entire life-time of emotions he didn't even realize he'd been suppressing. "I'd like to see my brother, Father," he said calmly.

Father Jim drew in a deep breath, considering his request. "You do realize that Matthew-"

"Sammy," Dean interrupted. "His name is Sam." Just saying it made it a little more real.

The Father conceded with the tilt of his head. "You do realize that Sam has grown up believing his family has moved on… forgotten him. He's grown up in a foster care system, which though I take great pride in and have done my best with here in the church… it's a system lacking the personal touch of family. Not to mention once he hit the age of ten, the government took over and saw to his placement in actual homes. And I say 'homes' in the plural sense because despite my best efforts, his blessing, even though it hadn't made itself known yet had set him apart from the other children; which in turn made him a difficult child… an _undesirable_ child. Mat-" Father Jim caught himself, "Sam has never known a family other than the church… he doesn't understand family loyalty, he's been alienated his entire life and he's currently waging a war not just with this demon… but with himself."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean the gift of prophecy is one of the more difficult blessings to handle." The Father ran a hand across his brow, trying to be as empathetic as he could be and still get his point across. "Imagine witnessing the death of not just the victims of the fire demon, but many of the deaths you read about in the papers or hear on the news. And I'm not speaking of the seventy year old man who stopped breathing in his sleep; I'm talking about the un-explainable death of a man whose body was found drained of blood, or the woman whose heart was missing… head's cut off, drownings, body parts, blood, death," he listed off, "… it's not an easy thing to live with. And that's not even including the migraines that follow the visions."

"It's a sucky gift- I get it." At this point Dean could've cared less, he had one focus at the moment. "I want – to see – my brother," he said slowly.

"And what would you do if you did?"

"What I should've been doing the past twenty-two years…" he said, slightly accusatory, "watching his back."

Father Jim folded his hands beneath his nose and stared long and hard at the young man before him, reading him, calculating, and sending up a prayer for wisdom. Dean stared back, resolute.

"I believe you would." The holy man finally answered. A small grin appeared suddenly and his gaze fell to the desk, "It's ironic; all this time I've been praying for the Lord to send someone to help Matt- Sam… someone for him to talk to… to _watch his back_," he threw a small glance to Dean. "Little did I know he already had; four years _before_ he'd even been born." The Father nodded, "You're an answer to prayer Dean."

Dean's mouth quirked, "I usually only hear that from woman."

The Father stared at the other man, a little surprised at his shamelessness, "You're brother is a very sweet-natured, polite young man… try not to spoil that."

Dean smirked, but didn't make any promises. Instead he just reached forward and reclaimed his license, stuffing it back into his wallet and into his back pocket as he stood. Father Jim stood as well.

"So you'll call me? When you see him?"

"You have my word."

Dean eyed the man, reading his sincerity. "Thanks," he offered awkwardly, "for everything."

Father Jim smiled gently, "I did my best… the rest I blame on your family genes."

Dean snorted and pulled the Father's office door open, coming face to face with a familiar face.

Matthew Brayman looked, up in surprise, his hand still in the air ready to knock. When he recognized the man before him, his eyes widened in fear. He took a step back.

"Sam," Dean breathed… shocked at his sole focus being delivered _to his doorstep_ so to speak. His joy was short-lived however as the younger man suddenly turned tail and ran. Dean didn't think, he just followed, sprinting after the taller man; ignoring the curious questions from the Holy man behind him who'd missed the disastrous reunion.

**--S--**

Matthew Brayman turned the corner at full speed, nearly colliding with choir's seats. He leapt over the pulpit railing and pushed off from the ground. Unfortunately his pursuer choose that moment to leap over the railing as well, colliding with him and sprawling them down the isle. Matt rolled to his feet and just as the other guy held up a hand, seemingly to get his attention, he threw his fist, hard into the older man's jaw.

Dean saw the punch coming, he didn't expect it, but he saw it coming and was able to at least pull with it to lessen the force of the hit. His whole body twisted around and crashed into a pew off to the side. He grabbed onto it to keep from falling to the ground and shook his head to clear it.

"Why are you following me?" Matt demanded angrily, feeling as if his _one_ safe-haven had been defiled, over-run. "What do you want?!"

"Matthew!" Father Jim rushed into the Sanctuary, quickly taking in the scenario. He glanced between the two young men before stepping down into the isle, holding up a hand to still the anxious look in the younger one's eyes. "Matthew, son… this is Dean Winchester, he's here to help you-"

"What?" he asked incredulously. "You called the cops on me?"

"No, he's not a cop Matthew," the elder man implored calmly.

"I saw him! I saw him at the fire!"

"Did I _look_ like I was wearing a blue uniform?" Dean decided it was time to reinsert himself into the conversation; he leaned against the pew trying to look un-intimidating.

Matt's head swiveled towards the other man only a few years older than him. "What do you want?"

Dean let out a grateful sigh… at least he was giving him a chance. "I wanna help you."

Matt shook his head with a guarded look. "You can't help me… no one can."

"Sam, if you woul-"

"Why do you keep calling me that? It's Matt."

"Son, please come back with us into my office," Father Jim gestured behind him, "we have a lot to discuss."

Matt's dark eyes stared at the man; this man he'd trusted his entire life… he shook his head. "No."

The Father felt a pang in his chest; distrust was clearly written in the young man's eyes, and he'd had a hand putting it there. "Matthew-"

"You're name is Samuel Winchester, you were born May 2nd, 1983 in Lawrence, Kansas." Dean interjected angrily; he'd had enough play time. "When you were exactly six months old there was a fire-"

"Winchester." Matt reminisced, he licked his lips. "Mable called you Winchester back in the diner." Dean's eyes darted to the side as he recalled. "Dean Winchester…" he nodded, knowing he was right. "So what… you think we're somehow related? That I'm your long lost relative?" He shook his head in denial. "I'm sorry you lost someone close to you… but I'm not him. My name is Matthew Brayman; I grew up in this church."

"Yeah? How do you think you got here?" Dean had expected this to go a lot smoother. "Is it so hard to believe, I mean look at what you do!" He flexed his jaw as he glared the younger man down. "How many kids have you pulled from the fire and brought here… to the same church_ you_ were brought to?"

Matthew stared at him; the ugly truth clawing for entrance. He swallowed, suddenly realizing it was an answer he'd always wanted, but denied himself the question in fear of what it would mean. He always knew he came from somewhere other than the church; that someone brought him there… he just didn't examine it out of fear. But if someone brought him here then… he turned two, pained and betrayed eyes to the only person he truly trusted in the world. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Father Jim sighed, hating that those accusing eyes were directed at him. "I was trying to protect you."

Matt understood that; he of all people should understand that considering he was party to the same acts, himself. He looked away with a small nod knowing it was enough; his eyes caught on the other man… his long lost relative of some sort. "Look, if you know what's good for you, you'll stay out of this."

"Well fortunately for you I'm a bit of a rebel," Dean said matter-of-factly with a snide grin.

There was no doubt in Matt's mind that he was; anyone could see that just by looking at him. Unfortunately Matt's job wasn't especially… safe. Sure the other guy fought fires every day, but this was different; he could get killed… and if he was being honest with himself; he didn't really want to have to deal with having a family now. It would just be more people expecting things of him, wanting him to look a certain way, act in a certain fashion, share his feelings- but not his true feelings; no there were even restrictions on those as well. He wanted nothing to do with _family_ anymore. He had the church; it was all he needed.

"I'm sorry you've gone through all this trouble finding me, but I've already got a family." He turned to make his exit.

Dean grabbed his shoulder. "Sam-"

Matt shoved the hand away. "Look, I don't care who you think I_ used_ to be… I'm not him anymore. This is my choice…" he glared hard into Dean's eyes and spoke slowly, "I don't want you in my life."

Dean felt as if he'd been punched in the gut this time. He tried; he really tried not to let the swell of pain that came with that confession leak into his expression. He was pretty sure his lip twitched as he kept up the glare. He gave a small nod. "Fine." He broke the eye contact and walked down the isle, and out of the church; not bothering to look back.

He dropped into his car, started her up and squealed out of the church's parking lot and onto the street. He needed to drive… needed the release. He couldn't believe he'd gained his little brother back only to lose him minutes later; again. He stopped at an empty intersection; the red light reflecting in his eyes. He remembered her long blond hair, that brilliant smile and the loving arms that held him… those same arms once held Sam.

His eyes jumped to the rearview mirror. She had loved them both; she'd died for that love. He was the older brother… he owed it to her to look after him. He looked back at the street and suddenly floored it, jerking hard on the wheel. The black car swerved, tires squealing on the pavement as it made a 360 and tore back down the street it had just come.

**TBC…**

See, now that wasn't too painful was it? So what do you think? Lame? Or kinda cool? Either way the story is still going to come as is - I just like to know cuz I'm a glutton for punishment ;) Thanks again for spending time reading!


	10. Chapter 9

**Heroes**

By: Maygin

Summary: "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."

Edmund Burke (1729-1797)

I know you hear it all the time… but it's been freaking crazy around here so I apologize it took me a week to update this chapter!! Not to mention the two times I DID try and update FFN kept giving me an error. Anyways, I hope it was worth the wait. Also, thank you guys (I know I say it every time but thank you) for all the kind and honest reviews! Your excitement makes me excited!

**Chapter 9**

Dean burst through the Sanctuary's front doors, the slamming of the heavy oak echoing along the empty pews. He squinted to see clearly in the darkness… something wasn't right. He could almost feel the bad vibes in the air; and he could swear he smelled traces of sulfa that weren't there before. He slowly made his way up the long, empty isle, looking up and down the pews and into the balcony. He paused briefly as his eyes picked up on a few dark spots on the clean, white marble floor next to one of the pews. He crouched down slightly and peered hard into the surrounding area; there was no question in his mind that was blood. The question was where did it come from?

A suddenly disturbing thought occurred to him and he hesitantly looked straight up. He let out a small breath of relief as no bodies with slashes across their stomachs were hanging from the ornate rafters high above. He didn't think he was ready to face that reality just yet. He couldn't believe that less than an hour ago he still thought all this was due to some psycho with a lighter. He remained crouched and continued his slow steps towards to the pulpit. He froze as he reached the corner of the front pew; a pair of black shoes connected to a pair of black pants lay unmoving just within sight.

He rushed around the corner and reached down to check the elder man's pulse. He couldn't see any life-threatening wounds, but the man did have a gash along his brow that was still bleeding slightly. He patted the man's face, "Father Jim… come on." His eyes darted back and forth between the slowly rousing man and the Sanctuary around him, making certain he wouldn't be ambushed from behind. He finally got fed up and just smacked the holy man across the cheek, "Hey!"

Father Jim's eyes flew open and his hands shot out, reaching up in a defensive manner. He immediately recognized the young man standing guard over him despite the blurriness. "Dean?"

"Yeah it's me, what happened?"

"It found us."

"The demon?"

The Father shook his head, sharp pains reminding him of his head wound. "It was one of his acolytes-"

"_Another _demon? I thought you said they couldn't come in here."

"They're more powerful than I thought, we-"

"Where's Sam?"

"He ran… tried to draw it away from here."

"Do you know where he'd go?"

"No. But he knows the demons hate exposure…"

"You think he'll go somewhere where there's a lot of people? Won't that put them at risk?"

"No," the Father bit his lip as the room shifted slightly, "they won't risk exposure like that. One of evils greatest assets is staying low key. People tend to ignore what they don't see, so-"

"Can't fight what they can't see…" he answered, realizing even as he'd said it there was a deeper meaning there. "I'll find him." Dean assured, squeezing the man's arm and turning.

"Dean wait," Father Jim grimaced as he pulled himself to his feet. "You can't go unarmed."

Dean shook his head to belay the man's concern. "It's alright; I got a hand gun in the glove compartment."

The Father pressed against his pounding head, swaying slightly. "I'm not talking about normal weapons."

Dean watched the man suddenly turn towards the alter and made his way through the side door. Dean hesitated a moment before reluctantly following. The Father walked into his office towards his bookshelf. On it rested a simple, golden Celtic cross holding some books in place. Dean watched as the man pulled it forward, the book end holding the base in place. The wall on the left side of the bookshelf suddenly swung in on itself. The Father moved inside and pulled a light switch.

Dean's eyes roamed the room in awe; a little unsettled that an armory like this rested within the confines of the church. The old, stone walls had axes and swords hanging from them, along with large tomes resting on bookshelves. A vat filled with water sat along one wall, clear bottles lined a shelf above it. And along the back wall were shelves of guns and rifles; some very old looking, others more modern.

Father Jim pulled what looked like a sawed off shotgun from the shelf and practically thrust it into Dean's arms. He then grunted as he kneeled down and opened a small cabinet, pulling out some modified rounds. He thrust those into Dean's hand as well and then looked at him.

Dean stared at him with wide eyes, "I suppose now isn't the time to ask about this."

"Smart boy," he rested a weary hand on the shells, "these shells are filled with rock salt. I doubt it will kill the demon, but it should slow it down."

"Rock salt?"

"Later," he grabbed a glass flask from one of the side shelves and held it out for the younger man, "Holy water… again, it won't kill it-"

"Slow it down," Dean confirmed, he glanced around the room. "Is there anything in here that _can_ kill it?"

"I don't know yet. Just bring Matthew back here. I'll make sure it's safe upon your return."

"How?" Dean demanded, ignoring the man's slip of his brother's name. He didn't want to bring them back to where they'd just been ambushed.

"Just trust me Dean."

Dean stared at him a moment more before giving a small nod and turned, running out of the church and into the night. He stopped at his car, dropping the weapons into the passenger seat and looking up and down the street. Where would the kid have ran to?

…_evils greatest asset is staying low key_…

"Okay then," Dean dropped into his car, "let's makes a little noise." He turned the engine over and tore off, heading for the warehouse district.

**--S--**

He quickly assessed each building that he sped by. There was one specific one he was looking for. He grinned as it suddenly came into view; a large 'CONDEMNED' sign posted outside the main entrance of the abandoned building. He put the car in park and opened the trunk of his car, pulling out a gas can. He made quick work of dumping the gas around the first floor, especially around the old textiles that still lay in rolls along the wall, rotting.

He walked back towards his car, cold puffs of air appearing in the night as he picked up an old bottle from the ground. He filled the bottle and stuffed a rag in it, lighting the end. The flame reflected in his eyes as he looked upon the building one last time. "If you can't get Mohammad to the mountain…" He tossed the bottle into the front entrance, enjoying the smashing of the glass and the hungry flames that licked along the walls, finding a worthy meal. Dean watched the flames spread a moment more before turning his back on it and heading towards his car.

He pulled his cell out of his pocket and pressed in a few numbers. "Yeah, there's a huge fire on Wesley and Eleventh… one of the old warehouses, you better hurry; I think it's spreading." He flipped the phone shut, ignoring the questions of the operator. With a small grin he got back into his car and drove off, praying this would work.

**--S--**

A few miles away a young man stumbled to a stop at the edge of an alley, sliding down the brick wall, gasping for breath. He pressed a trembling hand against his side, feeling the wetness and wincing as his head pounded incessantly. He started as the tingling of broken glass sounded behind him. He could see a dark shadow moving slowly towards him in the darkness.

Blaring sirens and flashing lights suddenly flew by the alley. The shadow paused a moment, hesitating while the rest of the emergency vehicles passed. Matthew watched the fire trucks speed down the street. His eyes paused as they latched onto a dull flickering light along the skyline in the distance. He swallowed down the thick lump of hopelessness that had lodged in his throat and pushed up from the dirty ground with a growl, not even bothering to look behind him as he kept his eyes fixed on the beacon.

**--S--**

Dean stood far off to the side beside one of the other warehouses as two more fire trucks pulled to a stop next to the others. He recognized P.B., Myers, Marris and others from his team as they leapt from the trucks and began adding man power to the situation; pulling water lines and helping gain control of the flames. Police did their best to keep the curious crowds of onlookers and news crews back from the blazing building.

He scanned the crowd critically, glancing at the surrounding area every few seconds. He was making a pretty big gamble here, but the odds of just aimlessly driving around the city weren't necessarily in his favor either. His head jerked back towards the burning building as a few windows suddenly exploded, smoke and flames pouring out. Some people in the crowd screamed, even though they weren't in any real danger as long as they stayed back. Fortunately the building was right along the docks, so the fire only had to be contained at the sides.

"Come on, come on," he muttered impatiently. He peeked his head around the door of the warehouse he was currently hiding in. A silent hoorah went up in his head as his gambling paid off.

Sam, floppy hair and all came tearing out from between two buildings on Dean's right. The kid was sprinting for all he was worth, but came to a skidding halt as the blazing fire came into view. He only hesitated a moment before heading toward the crowds of people and news vans.

Dean brought a hand to his mouth to call out to him when suddenly the younger man fell hard to the street; as if someone had literally pulled his feet out from beneath him. Then an invisible force dragged him across the gravely road and tossed him through an old wooden door in one of the smaller buildings he'd just passed by. Dean broke into a run, cursing loudly as what he assumed was the demon, which looked surprisingly human, walked out of the shadows and stepped into the dark building as well.

**--S--**

Had his lungs been cooperating, Matt would've let a groan slip from his bloody lip as he slowly tried to push himself onto his back. He was covered in dust and gravel and his back, side and head were all competing for his attention. Not mention the scrapes and cuts along chest and legs from being dragged across the gravel road. He finally succeeded in drawing in a short breath that ended with a gasp and some coughing. He didn't quite make it onto his back before a shadow crossed over the outside lights.

He lifted his head already knowing what he'd see; he wasn't disappointed. The demon possessed man strode confidently into the room until his boots stopped in front of his prey. He sneered down at him.

"Pathetic." He lunged down and grabbed the kid by his shirt and jacket and lifted him until his face was within millimeters of his own. "What will you do now blessed one, hm?"

Matt struggled in the demon's grasp, he couldn't quite get his legs under him though and the room kept spinning around them.

"You're an abomination. Given something you don't even fully comprehend the extent of." It's expression turned mocking, "Poor, poor Samuel. You saved all those children… and what do you have to show for it hm?" The demon reached down and pressed a hand into the wounded man's side, causing him to cry out in between gasps, tears coming to his eyes. The demon tisked as the entirety of its eyes turned into bottomless pits of black. "Whose going to save you now Samuel?"

"Hey Pinhead!"

The demon's head whirled around to see another young man standing in the doorway silhouetted by the huge flames in the building across the road. What he failed to immediately see however was the shotgun in the strangers hands just before he brought it to his shoulder and took aim.

Dean was careful to make sure the shot leaned to the left to avoid hitting his brother. The demon was flung backwards to the floor, dragging his prisoner down with him.

As soon as Matt hit the floor his instincts kicked in and he rolled away from the possessed man to his feet. Unfortunately with his head threatening to explode among his other injuries his feet instead tripped over themselves and he ended up crashing into the wall where he remained awkwardly sitting, trying to remember how to breathe.

Dean cast a quick glance to his brother to make sure he hadn't broken his neck in his hasty retreat, and then walked towards the demon who was slowly sitting up, grimacing at the stinging salt wounds along its chest and shoulder. Dean reached into his back pocket and pulled out the glass flask Father Jim had given him. "Next time you feel like doin a little _babysitting_…" he stopped in front of the demon, "make sure he's an only child." And with that, Dean brought the flask down on the man's head, shattering it and covering him in the holy water.

The demon possessed man screamed in agony as the skin on his face seemed to almost melt, boils and traces of smoke appearing. Dean watched it writhe on the floor in awe for a moment before his senses kicked back in and he turned toward the opposite wall. He rushed over to his brother's side.

"You alright?"

"What are you doing here?" Matt gasped as Dean found the gash in his side.

"What do you think I'm doin here?" He reached forward to pull up the kid's shirt.

Matt shoved his hands away, "You could've gotten yourself killed."

"That's funny, cuz from my angle it looked like that was the road _you _were about to head down."

"It's _my_ problem. You shouldn't get involved."

"Wrong," Dean pulled up short and stared hard into the younger man's eyes, making sure he had his attention. "Whether you like it or not we are brothers… and that means we watch each others backs, no matter what."

Matt swallowed thickly as he finally allowed this man's words to take up haven in his mind. "It called me Samuel," he said quietly, not really knowing why _that_ thought had chosen to slip from his lips.

Dean gave a small nod and then tilted his head, "We called you Sammy."

The younger man grimaced slightly. "How about Sam?"

"I'll think about it." He glanced behind them seeing the demon slowly rolling to its side. "Come on," he pulled one of his brother's arms over his shoulder, "we gotta get out of here…ready?"

Sam gave a short nod and Dean lifted, eliciting a stifled cry. They stumbled out of the old building not even bothering to spare a look at the flaming structure a few meters away.

**TBC…**

(At this time I would just like to take a moment to see if anyone else was also afflicted with a sudden onset of a heart attack Thursday night when the fateful words "SOON" materialized on the television screen. What an AWESOME surprise!! I am SOO Excited!! Yeah I know, it also means no new episodes for a little while… but UGH!! That was AWESOME! I believe the words that sealed the awesome deal were "Dad told me something… about you." Can't wait!)


	11. Chapter 10

**Heroes**

By: Maygin

Summary: "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." -Edmund Burke (1729-1797)

Note: Once again… I am SOOO very sorry about the long wait on this. The craziness has yet to cease here. That and not having the alerts has seriously screwed with my every day living habits. I didn't realize just how much I relied on those stupid alerts to keep me entertained and up to date on fics. ;) Anywho – thank you guys for your continual support and reviews!! I've been horrible responding to them on this fic so I apologize for that too… man, I'm just sorry all over. Well, I hope these last few chapters don't disappoint.

**Chapter 10**

For the second time that night, Father Jim found himself answering to the pounding echoes coming from the heavy oak doors. He hurriedly ushered the two panting young men inside, locking the door behind them. "Follow me," he urged as he briskly walked back down the Sanctuary's isle towards the nurseries.

"Where'we goin?" Dean readjusted his brother's arm over his shoulder, trying to be careful with his side, and yet still fully aware of the danger no doubt still following them.

Father Jim ignored his question as he passed through a hallway into the housing units for the nursery and children.

Dean and Sam pulled up short behind him as he pulled out another key and quickly unlocked the door. Something dark caught Dean's eye on the floor. He looked down and frowned at the large black drawing beneath their feet in front of the door. "What is this?" He may be a newbie at all the demon stuff, but even he could feel the power the large symbol held; and it made him slightly nervous to be standing on top of it.

"Devil's Trap," Father Jim answered woodenly as he pushed through the door and waited for the boys to pass through as well before closing it and locking it once more.

"A what?"

The older man spared a look out of the small glass partition in the door that separated them from the hallway. "Devil's Trap; it's a protection symbol."

"Let me guess- it won't kill it." He asked snidely.

Father Jim pressed a finger to his lips shushing the younger man, pointedly throwing a look at the sleeping babies crowding the room. "No, it won't kill it," he whispered calmly.

"Right, so tell me again why we came back here?"

"Did you have somewhere else in mind?"

"Well, somewhere a little less obvious-" he broke off as his frustration caused him to jostle his brother's side, eliciting a small hiss. "Sorry."

"It can't go beyond that symbol." The Father said with quiet confidence. "Trust me Dean."

Dean swallowed down the first few responses that flung themselves at the barrier of his lips. He finally latched onto something pertinent, "Is that the only door in here?"

A brief flicker of something akin to delight in not only Dean's insight and quick thinking, but his discretion of his frustration alighted the older man's eyes. He moved beyond the boys, further towards the back of the room. "There are five rooms similar to this one in the children's wing; but most of them connect with each other. Only a few of them have doors that open into the hallways of the church." He opened the door at the far side of the room, noting Dean's expectant raised eyebrow. "I drew the symbol outside those doors as well," he affirmed.

Dean gave a small nod before helping his brother into the next larger room, noting this one was filled with small beds as opposed to cribs. Sleeping toddlers rested obliviously to the dangers surrounding them. He briefly wondered how many of these little guys also wore the charm around their necks. "Where exactly are we going?" he whispered as Father Jim passed by him towards the right hand side of the room.

"There's two sleeping quarters for whoever is working the night shift. One is through the side door back in the nursery, the other is here." He quietly moved around a few beds. "I sent Caroline home for the night."

"Caroline?" Dean shifted slightly as his brother seemed to slowly be getting heavier. He tilted his head down to get a better look at the younger man's face.

"One of the church staff; her and several other staff members take shifts to watch the children throughout the week. This room is usually empty so you'll have some privacy."

"That's good," Dean grunted quietly as Sam's full weight suddenly pulled at his shoulders, "cuz I think Yao Ming here is out for the count." Dean struggled to hold up the taller, younger man who seemed determined to make friends with the floor.

Father Jim stepped forward and lifted his old charge's legs, allowing Dean a moment to shift the weight before they quietly made their way into the room. They carefully laid the unconscious form on the single bed lying along the left hand side of the room. Dean fell into a chair, resting his muscles.

"Jes-" Dean paused, eyes catching with the Priest's, "-eeze… louise," he added lamely.

"Very smooth," the older man said knowingly.

Dean ran a hand over his head uncomfortably. "So now what?"

"Well," Father Jim pulled open another side door that led to a small bathroom. "I imagine you'll be able to leave in a few hours if you choose." He emerged with a plastic white box with a large red cross on it.

"What happens in a few hours?"

"Prayer meeting for our members who are business men begins at six-thirty." He set the box down on the nightstand beside the bed and began pulling items out of it. "And you can wipe that look of revulsion off your face, it's not like you think."

Dean quickly schooled his features, unaware the older man had even noticed. "So uh, how many men are we talkin about here? Enough to deter a demon from risking exposure?"

"Yes, but it's not just the numbers," he answered as he carefully lifted Sam's shirt to reveal the slight laceration along his side and numerous scratches littering his chest and abdomen.

Dean winced slightly at the sight, knowing those would not be fun to wake up with. "Let me guess, their prayers to _God _are gonna stop it," his voice was clearly laced with sarcasm.

A slight grin pulled at the corner of the older man's lips as he placed some heavy gauze on the laceration. "You'll come around some day," he answered quietly.

"Yeah, well while you're up there prayin would you mind asking him a question for me?"

The Father paused in his ministrations to check the seriousness of the younger man's question. "And what would that be?"

"What was he _thinking_ making Sam taller than me?"

Father Jim laughed, turning back to his subject. "Perhaps he felt you needed a lesson in humility," he jested lightly.

"Whatever," Dean shifted in the chair, watching the older man's movements religiously. "So… what happens next?" At the Priest's questioning glance he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "With this thing gunning for Sam now… I mean, what's he gonna do? Be on the run the rest of his life?" He shrugged his shoulders. "He can't stay cooped up in this room forever."

"Neither can you."

Dean blinked, the allegations of that statement jolting his tired body. "Come again?"

Father Jim finished taping a clean pad of gauze around the cut in the young man's side with a sigh. He shifted on the bed slightly to face the other man. "I'm assuming you faced the demon that attacked us tonight correct?"

"Yeah," Dean answered warily.

"And I'm also assuming you made some heroic remark about not messing with your younger brother?" he asked tiredly.

Dean's eyes widened slightly, a little embarrassed at being so transparent and yet also a little wary that maybe the man before him also had the gift of prophecy. Jumbled responses fondled his lips looking for some kind of order or escape, but Dean couldn't for the life of him choose an adequate one. "…maybe."

Jim nodded. "You're on their radar now Dean. You're a possible threat. That makes you as much a target now as Samuel."

Dean's head lowered as he swallowed thickly; wondering why he wasn't as bothered by this as he thought he _should_ be. He ran a hand across his eyes. In fact, for some reason he felt completely at peace with the ninety degree turn his life had taken in the last twelve hours. The whole idea of a supernatural world existing out there just electrified the blood in his veins. It was real… and despite the insanity of it, he wanted a part in it. He almost laughed at the very idea that being on the Fire Demon's most wanted list was exhilarating to him.

He glanced up at the holy man still sitting there watching him. "So how did you_ really_ know about that whole heroic remark thing?"

Father Jim grinned, knowing he'd been caught. "I didn't, I guessed." He gestured lazily to Dean's hand, "You've been marked."

Dean's eyes darted down to the back of his hand. His eyes widened and his jaw went slack as he inspected the black symbol he hadn't noticed before. He rubbed at the symbol vigorously with his other hand. "What the-"

"That won't work," the Priest said helpfully.

"Well what _will_ work?" Dean asked with anger… this had not been apart of the deal. "What is this?"

Father Jim pulled a large band-aid out of the plastic box and held it out for him. "It's a mark of an enemy for all intents and purposes."

"What _intent_ and _purposes_?!"

Father Jim laughed quietly as Dean angrily swiped the offered bandage. "Don't worry; it'll disappear in a few weeks." He folded his hands in his lap. "It's a supernatural mark so to speak. When you prove yourself a possible threat to the Demon's you receive that mark." He shrugged his shoulders, "After it disappears only they can see it."

Dean looked down at the black symbol with disgust. "Will they… I mean- can they track me with this?"

"No… at least not as far as I know."

"Well that's comforting." Dean slapped the bandage over the back of his hand, effectively covering the obtrusive mark.

"If it makes you feel any better, I've had my own mark for twenty-eight years. Samuel's had his since he was twelve… and we're both still alive."

Dean glanced at his little brother's form. "Why did they suddenly come after him?"

The older man's lower lip peeked out in thought as he gave a small shrug of his shoulders. "I don't know," he said simply. "Maybe the Fire Demon was tired of him spoiling his plans." He eyed Dean closely as the younger man stared intently at his brother's prone form. "Or maybe... he saw something that truly frightened him coming into existence," he added on quietly.

Dean's brow quirked. "What do you mean?"

He drew in a deep breath, shaking his head and dismissing the thought. "Nothing." He raised himself from the bed before the younger man could question him further. "I need to check on the children." He held out a clean cloth, "Do you think you can clean these scratches?"

Dean hesitated, looking first at the cloth, then his brother and back towards the cloth before taking it. "Sure." He moved towards the bed, looking down at the first aid kit. "Do I just…"

Father Jim turned at the door hearing the unasked question, "Just pour some hydrogen peroxide on the cloth and gently wipe at them."

"Right." Dean nodded, still staring into the plastic box.

A smile pulled at the older man's lips. "It's the brown bottle."

Dean snagged up the bottle and bounced it in his hand a few times, "Yup, that's the one." Dean rolled his eyes at himself after the quarter door closed quietly behind the Priest. "Good one Dean," he berated. He twisted the bottle top off, glancing down at the still form on the bed. He started slightly as he realized Sam's eyes were open and they were watching him. "Hey."

Sam blinked slowly watching Dean's hesitant movements as he sat along the edge of the bed. "Hey," he quietly answered.

Dean's eyes skirted around the room in the awkward silence before he looked down and remembered the bottle and cloth in his hands and held them up. "Uh… the old guy wanted me… he said you needed those cleaned," he gestured ineptly towards the younger man's chest and scratches and became a little unnerved when Sam continued to simply lay there and stare at him. "So…" he racked his brain for something intelligent to say but nothing presented itself; so instead he simply held the bottle and cloth up again as if that would explain everything.

Dean became a little frustrated when it didn't; and when Dean became frustrated he screwed the social niceties and opted instead for action. He bunched the cloth up and poured some of the liquid onto it and then gently patted down the scratches, making sure to keep a peripheral eye out for any pain he might be causing. "Don't talk much do ya? You got a head injury or something," he asked casually.

"What do you want me to say?" Sam finally responded with a quiet voice.

"Well you could start with, _hey Dean- thanks for saving my butt_," he picked up one of the younger man's hands and smothered the cringing look that wanted to break free. A few deeper scratches embedded themselves in the palms.

Sam's dark eyes roamed the room a moment before returning to his older _brother_; he still had a hard time considering that a reality. And even more shocking was the fact that…"You're still here."

Dean paused giving the younger man an obvious look. "Of course I'm still here stupid."

Sam's brow quirked, "Are you supposed to talk to me like that?"

Dean snorted sarcastically, "Why? Because you're one of the 'chosen ones'?" he quoted with his fingers.

"No, because I'm your little brother."

Dean's grin softened a little. "Actually that's exactly why I get to talk to you like that."

"Hey Dean," Dean paused again in his ministrations to look at him, "thanks for saving my butt." Sam allowed a small grin to escape.

"Yeah well, just don't you forget it." Dean shrugged off the appreciation he could see in his brother's eyes despite the joke. He screwed the bottles cap back on and dropped it into the first aid kit. "Oh and by the way, you owe me fifty bucks for that stunt you pulled back at Jimmy's."

Sam ducked his head, "Sorry about that," he muttered, a little embarrassed at his earlier flight.

Dean glanced up from digging around in the box, "And what were you thinking hitting me in the face?"

Sam froze, the blood draining from his own face. He was slowly remembering just all the things he'd said and done this other man… his brother. He'd hit him… he'd actually hit his brother. And seeing as how he knew next to nothing about him, he wasn't sure how he'd react. Growing up he'd quickly learned to always be on guard and ready to either fight or run. If Dean was seriously pissed about his earlier actions, he didn't know what the appropriate action would be. He figured it was different, or at least should be with family.

Dean did a double-take between the box and the younger man's face. He literally saw his face go pale and the silent conflictions storming behind the deep, brown eyes. "Hey," he said gently, nudging him in the arm, "You alright?"

Sam swallowed, his body tense. He figured, when in doubt… "I'm sorry," he quietly forced out of a tight throat.

Dean's brow creased, "For what?" When Sam seemed to struggle with the answer he started guessing. "For hitting me?" He asked, slightly incredulously.

A miniscule nod answered him. "For everything," quietly followed.

Dean raised an eyebrow, "That covers a lot of ground buddy; I think you're gonna have to be a little more specific."

Sam's mind suddenly turned into a hurricane of thoughts, all ferociously assaulting his attention. Here, sitting not a foot from him was an entire life he'd missed out on. And not just Dean in and of itself; but what Dean represented… a family. A normal family with a house and a dog and years of growing up and learning from them and loving them and going to do fun things with them. He represented the consistency of safety and protection that Sam had yearned for; the available council he always looked for… twenty-two years of a life he _could've_ had was sitting here staring him in the face. And it made his chest ache.

"Sam?" Dean quietly baited.

Sam swallowed the annoyingly huge lump in his throat, "So what happens next?"

Dean paused a moment, trying to follow the younger man's wandering emotions. "What do you mean?"

Sam self-consciously shifted on the bed, finding everything but Dean extremely interesting. "Do we exchange numbers or… meet for lunch here and there or… what?" Sam fumbled through the embarrassing question.

Dean's head tilted back in understanding and then gave serious consideration to the question. It wasn't as if the same thing hadn't been swimming around his own head. "Well… where would you normally go from here?"

Sam shrugged, "Home."

"And where's that?"

"Off of Sunshine Drive."

Dean blinked, piecing that one together pretty quickly. "Sunshine drive," he said flatly. "As in the _shelter_ on Sunshine Drive."

Sam shrugged, trying to play it off; people with jobs and homes always found the idea of living in a shelter horrific and never failed to give him that look of pity. "It's not that bad."

Dean felt a flare of anger spike in his chest, "Sam, it's a shelter," he clarified slowly.

"Yeah, it's a roof over my head, food for my stomach and a warm bed at night. What's the big deal?" Sam defended.

"Alright you know what? I'm not arguing this with you," Dean finalized, back to digging in the first aid kit. "When we leave here you're staying with me got it?"

Sam hated that his soul wanted more than anything for that to happen; but the acidic poison of doubt quickly tainted and corroded that desire. Doubt that once Dean got an idea of _who_ he really was… he'd be back on his own again.

"Hey," Dean interrupted his brothers obviously brooding thoughts, "would you wipe that look of horror off your face? It won't be that bad; besides…it's not like we'll be sticking around here anyways." Dean absently muttered the last part in annoyance as he tossed the cloth still in his hand onto the nightstand.

Sam blinked, "What do you mean?"

Dean sighed. "Well apparently you've bumped yourself up on Evil's top 10 ten list," he jerked his head to the side, "And I managed to make a nuisance of myself." He pulled the band aid off his left hand and casually held it up.

Sam's eyes widened, he knew that mark all too well. It had scared the crap out of him when he'd woken up with it one day; not to mention his foster parents at that time were rigid and strict and what they had assumed was a tattoo was simply not tolerated. It would turn out to be the first of many _re_-placements he'd had to endure. And now his brother had one. He turned sad eyes to the older man next to him, "That's too bad… I was just starting to like you."

Dean's head tilted slightly, "Did you just make a joke?"

Sam fidgeted self-consciously. "Considering the situation, an entirely inappropriate one; yes."

Dean blinked hard and wide, "Do you always complicate your sentences like that?"

"Unequivocally."

Sam gave a small grin and Dean frowned; he wasn't certain because he didn't really know Sam all that well yet, but he was pretty sure he was being mocked.

Sam cleared his throat finally, ending the light stand-off. "So, if we're not sticking around… where are we going?"

Dean's hands flung out, "Wherever the road leads us."

"The _road_ could lead us into the ocean," he said flatly.

"What, you don't know how to swim?"

Sam gave his brother a skeptical look to which Dean finally conceded with a roll of his eyes. "Well wherever you wanna go. It's up to you."

The younger man watched Dean with a wary look. "Seriously?"

Dean shrugged, "As long as it's far away from here. We gotta get off the radar for a while… figure out what we're dealing with."

"But..." Sam shifted uncomfortably again, "what if I… you know," he said, awkwardly gesturing towards his head.

Dean briefly considered it. "Then we'll make a call."

"To who?" Sam asked skeptically. "Father Jim? What's he going to do, go knocking on their door and say, _hi- I'm here to stop a demon from scorching your wife and baby_?"

"Well I wouldn't say _scorching_ but-" he broke off at the younger man's glare and held up a complacent hand. "Alright look… I've got a lot of friends and contacts around here." He watched his brother's reaction. "We'll figure out Sammy, but right now we gotta get outta town. You aren't gonna do anyone any good if your dead… okay?"

Sam seemed to consider it for a few moments before conceding with a small nod. "Alright." Dean nodded in agreement. "Could you just do me one favor though?"

"You name it."

"Stop calling me _Sammy_?"

"Never gonna happen."

TBC…

Yeah I know… how much longer can I actually drag this thing out huh? Well you'll be happy to know there are only two chapters left… I think. However, for those of you who have actually enjoyed this – I've already started on a continuation. It's only about two-fifths of the way finished, but it's coming at least ;) The ever ambiguous "Soon" is not coming soon enough!!


	12. Chapter 11

**Heroes**

By: Maygin

Summary: "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." --Edmund Burke (1729-1797)

Note: Some of you have been asking what the heck has been keeping me so busy… well I'm currently working full time and going to school… I know, I know – who isn't right? There have been other things goin on too, but I'll spare you the dramatic details. Anyways, you asked. SO... here is Chapter 11! I hope this satisfies a lot of plot desires I know I've been hearing. I should be finishing up with my class here in the next two weeks, and barring no disasters… I'll actually have time to work on the continuation story!! As my closing note, I'd just like to say… I'M SO EXCITED ABOUT TONIGHTS EPISODE!!!!!!!!! …yes, that's right… I just used 9 exclamation marks. Nine bad boy expressions of blissful euphoria. The world will never be the same again.

**Chapter 11**

"I'm comin… geeze!" Dean growled as he stuffed a few more pairs of jeans into his duffle bag before making his way towards his apartment door which currently sounded like King Kong was knocking on. "What?!" He swung the door inwards and lost all sense of annoyance at the seething expression before him. "Marris."

"I saw you last night."

He froze, "You did?"

She tilted her head, "Spotted your car at the warehouse just as it was tearing around a corner."

Dean stalled by picking at some loose paint on the doorframe. "Look Maris-"

"What were doing there Dean?" she blurted out, anger seeping into her voice. "You told me you had an emergency, so unless you suddenly gained the power of prophecy then I find it hard to believe that your emergency involved abandoned warehouses."

Dean licked his lips, reveling in the irony of her flippant remark. He took a deep breath, again trying to find something to say.

"Start talking Dean or so help me I will come to my own conclusions on this and believe me, it's not pretty."

"It doesn't involve me in a dress does it?" he asked lightly.

Her stare sucked the humor right out of his comment. "Have you ever heard of the Copycat Syndrome?" Dean's brow quirked, he tried not to snort at the ridiculous jumble of words she'd just spat at him. She still however didn't seem to find the humor of it all. "It's a term psychologists use for people, cops, agents -whatever… when a person becomes so obsessed with finding a specific individual that they start displaying some of the same criminal characteristics."

Dean felt his own temper flare up, "You think I'm turning into that _thing_?"

"You tell me."

He shook his head, "I don't have time for this."

"Well make it." Her voice was cold. "I'm ready to call Jameson on this Dean."

He paused, taken aback. "You'd call the cops on me?"

"I'd do a lot more to protect a friend." They stared each other down, both silently fighting for king of the hill. "You spend all your free time pouring over those case statistics Dean, you don't sleep- you _obsess_ over this and I'm worried about you."

"That _thing_ destroyed my family," Dean finally growled.

"And now it's destroying you," she spat back.

Dean sneered. "That's a bit melodramatic Marris, even for you."

"I imagine that's supposed to be some kind of insult?"

"Two words for ya Marris- _get laid_."

The snide expression on her face suddenly dropped. The argument died and all that was left were the limping wounded. Dean's own anger fell away, replaced with bitter guilt. He really hated his mouth sometimes. He couldn't apologize either; it would've been too cheap and they both knew it. He ran a frustrated hand across his face.

"Look Marris," his voice was soft again and he hesitated a moment, "give me one day. If I don't have a good excuse for you at that point I'll turn _myself_ in."

He waited anxiously, watching her stoic expression.

"One day," she finally agreed before turning and making a quick exit through the stairwell.

He sighed, "Good one Dean."

**--S--**

Dean pushed the door to Jimmy's open, the clanging bell loudly announcing his presence. He rolled his eyes, making his way towards the kitchen door ignoring some of the non-regular patron's looks. He pushed it open slightly and peeked in, "Hey Marcus; Mable here?"

Marcus' head whipped around and he smiled widely, flipping a pancake. "Heeey man! How you doin?"

"I'm doin great, you?"

"I'm doin," Marcus grinned and snickered. He tossed his head towards the back of the kitchen, "Mable's in the back-"

"Dean Winchester! I know you ain't in my kitchen!" Mable's voice carried loudly over the noisy clanging and sizzling of Marcus and his grill. Dean actually backed up a step as the larger woman strolled towards him with a handful of old, dull knives in her hand. "I got customers out there who don't want your dirty hands all over their food." She playfully shooshed him out, following him through the doors. Dean obediently stood in front of the counter as she dropped the silverware into a basket and then turned to him with a big, motherly smile. "Now, what brings you here? Did you actually come to _eat_ my food this time or to just shove it around on your plate as if I didn't raise five children of my own?"

Dean ducked his head, a little embarrassed he'd been caught all those times. "Listen Mable I uh…" he looked up again. "Sa- well… Matt and I are leaving town."

Mable's brow furrowed slightly, "Matthew? _My_ little Matthew?"

Dean snickered; he was really going to have a field day with that one when he got back. "Yeah, Brayman… well, Winchester now."

Mable blinked, not holding back the obvious look of confusion that had taken up residence. "You gonna explain that or just leave an old lady out to dry?"

Dean sucked in a deep breath, he'd meant to just come here to say his good-byes and somehow thank her for what she'd done for him and his dad all those years ago, not spill the beans. "It's kinda funny actually… turns out Matthew, or Sam is my long-lost brother." He smiled cheesily, realizing just how ridiculously soap opera he'd just sounded.

Mable licked her lips in thought, leaning forward to rest her upper body on folded arms. "You don't say."

"Yeah," Dean said a bit more guardedly. He didn't know how he expected her to react, but calm acceptance wasn't exactly it.

"Huh," Mable said distantly before breaking out into a large smile. "The good Lord works in mysterious ways doesn't he?"

Dean frowned in surprise, "Excuse me?"

Mable shook her head, the smile still firmly in place. "So Matthew's your little brother," she stated happily rather than questioned and then broke out into a boisterous laugh. "I tell you the Lord never ceases to amaze me with the way he just weaves things in and out of our lives."

"You did hear me correctly right? …Matthew Brayman; tall, shaggy lookin guy that frequents here is my long-lost brother… "

"I heard you boy!" Mable laughed joyously again, slapping his arm. "I'm just glad he'll have someone to watch his back now… and keep _you_ under control." Dean looked slightly offended. "So," she sighed loudly, calming down a bit, "you boys are leavin town," she baited.

Dean looked down sheepishly at the counter, "Yeah, I just figured I'd come by and say thanks."

"Where you boys headed?"

Dean shrugged, "I don't know yet… we're just gonna do a road trip type thing… get to know each other ya know?"

"You're wise to get outta town," she said knowingly, lowering her voice.

Dean paused, watching her expression. "What do you mean?"

"I mean there are only so many times that creature is gonna let Matthew spoil its plans before it bites back."

Dean's forehead smoothed out in shock as he realized Mable was in on the whole deal. "How do you…" he floundered. He leaned forward and whispered a bit harshly, "You know about the fire demon?" Mable pursed her lips, nodding her head. "And the other Brayman kids? Father Jim? The fires?" Dean leaned forward again, "And you know about… you know," he gestured towards his head, "his _blessing_ and everything?"

"Well of course I know he's special," she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Me and Father Jim go way back; I've known about Matthew's blessing ever since he was just a little bitty thing," she gushed. "Why do you think I baby that child so much hm?"

Dean gave a little shrug, and then smirked as the realization that Sam had a lot more people looking after him than he realized. "Huh." He stood up straight again, contemplating all the possible moments he'd been in the same diner as his brother and not even known it. "Thanks for all you've done Mable…for everything."

"Oh don't thank me," she patted his hand knowingly with a big smile, "I'm just doin what the good Lord asked."

Dean shifted awkwardly to his other hip. "It's Sam by the way."

"What's that honey?" she asked, leaning closer.

"Sam… his real name is Sam." He cocked his head, "But call him Sammy if you wanna piss him off."

Mable's hardy laugh was always a comfort to any soul who wandered into her den. Dean knew he would miss that too. He would have to remember to visit her whenever they were in the area again. "You two are gonna be a force to be reckoned with out there."

Dean smiled, "I don't know about that… but we definitely plan on stirring the pot."

Mable rested her hands on Dean's folded hands and leaned in close again, lowering her voice. "Listen, I spoke with Father Jim and he told me that Matth-" she caught herself with a smile, "Sam's been havin a little trouble dealin with his gift."

"If you can call it that," he mumbled.

Mable's lips pursed as she reached up and gave him a swift tap beneath his chin to get his attention. "The Lord doesn't give gifts lightly. He obviously blessed Sam for a reason. Just like he blessed you with a brother. You think you just happened to stumble upon your little brother twenty-two years after you lost him and in the middle of a big city like this?" She shook her head. "The Lord has his reasons, and it's not our job to understand em, just to do what we can with what he gives us."

Dean cleared his throat, finding the countertop suddenly extremely interesting. Mable smiled and gently patted his hands again.

"Well, I don't mean to preach to ya. What I wanted to say is that I have a cousin who is also one of the blessed." That got Dean's attention. "In fact, she lives in your old neighborhood… Lawrence right?" Dean nodded silently. "Well I'll call her and let her know you might be stopping by. She's a good woman Dean; I believe she can help Sam."

Mable placed a small piece of paper into the young man's hand. Dean looked down at the hand scrawled note. His brow quirked, "Missouri?"

Mable's own brow quirked with a smirk. "Mm-hmm. And if you're any kind of smart, you won't say anything about the name… it's a bit of a touchy subject."

"Got it." He slid off the stool and looked at her with appreciation. "Thanks Mable."

She smiled, "You take care Winchester. And come back and visit me sometime."

"I promise." He turned and headed towards the door, slipping the piece of paper into his back pocket.

"Oh and Dean!" Dean paused in the doorway, looking back. "Be mindful of your thoughts around her."

Dean frowned slightly, but decided he was better off not asking. He turned and let the door to the diner shut; the clanging bell sounding in the background. He jerked his head with a smirk; he was really going to miss that stupid bell.

**--S--**

"Hey," Dean called as he stepped into the small quarters. Daylight saturated the room through the bar-covered windows.

Sam looked up from the large book he was pouring over. "Hey, what took you so long?"

Dean actually looked a little disgruntled. "Just because you have like two things to your name doesn't mean I do. It's not easy packing for an undetermined amount of time to who knows where."

"Wow… I didn't realize you were such a girl."

"Shut-up." He scowled playfully. "If you must know I had to tie up some loose ends… oh and I ran into someone I thought you might like to meet," he finished suspiciously.

Sam's easy-going smile slowly dropped away as he watched a tall, well-built, dark-haired man walk into the room. He winced slightly as he stiffly, but politely stood to his feet, wary of the older man who stood there next to Dean, just staring at him. "Hi," he offered. The other man continued to just stare and Sam could swear there was something akin to tears beginning to swim in the other man's eyes. Sam felt very much like he'd been put under a microscope. He glanced briefly at Dean who had a mischievous smile on his face.

"Sam," Dean spoke up and rested a hand on the older man's back, "this is Dad." Sam's eyes widened and turned back sharply to the other man, taking his turn now to stare in shock. "Dad," Dean continued, "this… is Sammy."

The room fell into a silent void where it seemed only shocked curiosity and uncertainty seemed to preside. Sam's mind was blank; he couldn't come up with a single thought, as if his entire brain had abandoned him and all he was left with was to stare at this man in front of him and wait for something to happen. The feelings and emotions were there, swelling beneath his chest and traveling through his veins, but he couldn't make heads or tails of them. He almost took a step back as the other man hesitantly walked a few steps towards him.

Dean stood silently off to the side watching the highly charged and yet delicately sensitive scenario play out. He'd stopped by his father's apartment after he'd left the diner and spent the next hour trying to delicately explain everything that had happened in the last month and a half. And amazingly enough his father had latched onto every word. Dean quickly realized that after twenty-two years of wanting an answer; _needing_ to know _why_, that the truth had become a lot more believable despite the insanity of it. That's not to say his father hadn't looked at him worriedly for a while and asked a _lot_ of questions… but he'd believed him in the end. And the first thing he'd asked after his initial acceptance was to see his baby boy. Dean almost laughed at that thought now… because Sam was far from being a baby now; about six foot four inches far from being a baby.

John Winchester, owner of the Winchester car shop, worked very hard at keeping his expression somewhat neutral. But he could feel his chin quivering and the burning in his eyes as he stared at the young man standing uncomfortably before him. He had taken in the tall, lanky stature of not enough meals; the long, dark brown hair that fell into a pair of eyes of equal color and holding much too much age in them; the old t-shirt and jeans with holes in them; the pale skin; the dark smudges of too many nights without sleep beneath the eyes and wrinkles of too many worries along the edges... and all he could think of was this was Mary's little boy.

That thought alone pushed a few past-due tears over the edge and down his face. He reached up and ran a shaky hand over his mouth. "Sammy," he said; just reveling in the name… the name he and a pregnant Mary had finally decided on _together_ late one night on their bed, Dean sleeping peacefully between them.

Sam for his part shifted to one side self-consciously, once more wondering how one acted towards a father. He didn't quite understand why he felt so strongly towards these two men… after all, he'd only just met them, and yet he felt for all the world that they were his missing link… his answer to prayer… the home he'd always wanted. He drew in a quiet breath, "Hey dad."

It was all John needed; he reached forward and pulled the young man towards him, wrapping his arms around him. Sam hesitantly reached up and wrapped his own arms around the man's back, giving more and more into the embrace until he simply buried his face into his father's shoulder and let the last twenty two years leak into the older man's shirt. John tightened his hold as he felt the shudders and silent tears bleed from his lost child.

Dean serenely watched from the sidelines, secretly enjoying the long-overdue reunion and quite proud of himself. Suddenly his father's hand reached back and snagged his jacket, pulling him in. "No-Dad I-"

"Shut-up." John cut him off as more tears fell and he pulled Dean into his free side, wrapping an arm around him as well and pulling his head down onto his shoulder.

Dean sighed disgustedly, rolling his eyes into his father's shoulder.

"Love your brother Dean." John ordered.

Dean held his arms out at his sides with his face still buried in his father's shoulder as if to say _why me_?

Sam snorted at his brother's predicament which quickly turned into sobbing laughter joined by their father's laughter as well. Dean however did not find the situation at all funny and just continued to stand there with his head forcefully buried; shoulders slumped in defeat and arms hanging in disgust at his sides. He knew his father wasn't exactly one for these types of emotional displays either… which is why he probably dragged him into it; to bring a little humor into it, lighten it up. By all rights, the man was due this kind of moment. After all he'd waited twenty-two years for some kind of closure, and instead he'd been given a new opening. Dean actually felt inclined to send a silent thank you sky-ward.

"Are we done yet?" Dean's voice muffled.

John wiped a hand across his face with a smile, releasing the boys; but still keeping a tight grip on his youngest's arm. Sam didn't seem to mind though as he sheepishly tried to remove the remnants of his little cry-fest from his face. He'd not cried in front of someone in years; in fact the last person he'd cried in front of was Father Jim and that had been after his first rejection.

John shook his head, "You know..." he hesitated, "I imagined this a lot over the years and… now that it's actually a reality…" he squeezed the younger man's arm, "I have no idea what to say."

Sam laughed, a few more tears leaking out. He quickly wiped at them. "Yeah, I know what you mean," he said looking back up.

"Dean said you'd be heading out tomorrow?"

"Looks that way," he said, a little unsure if perhaps that was a good thing or a bad thing in this man's opinion. After all, he'd just rudely inserted himself in this small family. How involved did his father really want to be in his life now that he was… well… found? Obviously the old man had been happy to see him… men like the two before him didn't get worked up like that over nothing. He took what little comfort he could from that.

A throat cleared from behind the men, "Excuse me," Father Jim apologized from the quarter's doorway. He turned a perceptive eye to the older brother and spoke off-handedly. "Dean… you wouldn't by any chance know anything about an order of three extra-large pizza's and two six-packs of _beers_ that are currently waiting at the front door of this _church_ to be paid for," he finished with a light casualness, "would you?"

Dean looked caught in the headlights and Sam had to try really hard not to laugh. He noticed John non-chalantly wipe a hand over his mouth, but caught the grin and silent laugh behind the hand.

Dean looked between the three men, and then let out a breath of a laugh with a guilty grin, "They- uh, were supposed to call my cell phone when they got here… sorry," he finished lamely.

Sam figured had the other two men known Father Jim like he did, they would recognize the older man's attempt at hiding his own humored smile. Fortunately, Sam knew the man all too well, but declined to inform Dean that Father Jim was simply playing with him… because in the end that made Sam laugh even more.

The Priest sent a quick, knowing glance towards his old charge before giving a complacent nod to Dean, "Just keep it confined to this room please? I've got twenty-seven grade schoolers wanting to know what's in the _brown bottles_."

Dean nodded sheepishly before casting one last glance at his father and brother as if to say _shut-up_ and followed the holy man out.

John turned a bit awkwardly at being left alone with the son he knew practically nothing about. "I guess you and your brother will be staying in then for the night?"

Sam nodded with a small shrug, "Yeah- we uh… it's not really safe for us to leave here at night." He ducked his head feeling a bit stupid.

John nodded as well, "Dean told me." He watched the younger man's eyes roam the small room. "I'm proud of you ya know."

Sam's head whipped around, dark eyes keenly reading the seriousness of the man's statement. He didn't know how proud the man could truthfully be since he practically knew nothing about him… but there was something so purely honest and sincere in his gaze that Sam could not deny that his father obviously saw something in him that he was proud of. And it made Sam's eyes burn again. He ducked his head and scuffed his shoe along the old floorboards.

He cleared his throat finally, "So um-" he looked up again, "are you gonna stick around for the night or…" he left it open ended, not wanting the man to feel obligated, but wanting more than anything for him to stay with them so he could get to know him.

John watched the insecure way Sam shifted to one hip and stuffed his hands in his back pockets, remembering how Mary always used to do the same thing whenever she wanted something but was too nervous or shy to ask. "Well if it's okay with you and your brother I think I'll stick around." He tilted his head as if letting Sam in on something, "To be perfectly honest, I think that's what your brother had in mind… and we'd hate to disappoint him right?"

Sam eased into a wide smile… suddenly loving the turn his life had taken in the past few days.

TBC…


	13. Chapter 12

**Heroes**

By: Maygin

Summary: "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."

Edmund Burke (1729-1797)

Well… we come to it at last. Thank you for sticking with me through this! I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I have. If you loved it… tell me. If you hated it… lie. ;) Just kidding sort of.

**Chapter 12**

"So today's the big day huh?" John Winchester asked as he strolled into the small quarter with coffee in hand. Sam and Dean were tidying the room up, making certain they weren't leaving anything behind. They'd spent almost the entire night just talking and reminiscing and sharing pieces of themselves; awkwardly and hesitantly at first of course, but after a few beers the words came with more ease. "Know where you're headed yet?" He held up the cardboard tray in his hand as he took a sip.

Dean shook his head, "Nope, that's Sam's job." He gratefully snagged the two coffees out of the flimsy tray and handed the second to his, what he assumed, unusually occupied brother.

Sam nodded a brief thanks and proceeded to run a hand through his messy hair; he didn't want to admit it, but despite last nights bonding fest… he was scared to death now. He was about to hop in a car and leave everything behind. True, he didn't have much by way of _everything_… but it was what he knew, it was his home. And combined with the exhaustion, aching muscles and healing scratches, not to mention only about an hours worth of sleep last night… the unknown of the road ahead was making him a little more than jumpy and nervous. He rubbed at his dry eyes in frustration as he realized he actually, for lack of a better word felt _frail_.

John glanced between the two boys. "I don't know what I'm gonna do with myself now that you're leaving." He'd meant it as a joke, like the thousands that came before between John and Dean; but Sam wasn't feeling particularly humorous at the moment. In fact his father's words had somehow managed to transform in his head from a harmless statement into something harsh and accusatory.

"I'm sorry," Sam quietly spoke; his back to them and feeling more than a little lame at his apology when he literally felt two pairs of eyes turn towards him, "…for getting you into this Dean… and for taking him away from _you_ dad."

"What are you nuts-" Dean started incredulously, but was cut off as their father held up a hand in front of him. John knew that stance all too well… it was another of Mary's classics; the- _I've got too much on my plate right now so just give it to me straight or so help me I will run out that door screaming_.

"To be honest Sam, when Dean told me he was leaving I wanted to be angry with you…" John guiltily glanced at his oldest, "Dean's been all I've had the past twenty-two years. I mean… I'm not saying I don't have friends, but-" he shook his head, frustrated at his own words. "I guess my initial reaction was that this person I _didn't_ know was taking the son I _did_ know away from me." He took a deep breath and ran a hand over his head. Finally, he looked up into his youngest' guilt-ridden, uncertain eyes that were now turned toward him, and rested a hand on the young man's shoulder, feeling the tenseness. "But you are apart of this family Sammy… always have been. Just…" he swallowed, "we lost you for a little while along the way. I don't regret you," he stated firmly. "I just wish I had more time to get to know you."

"You will dad." Dean assured from the side. "We'll be back, I promise. We just need to hideout for a little bit, regroup… figure out what's goin on and how to stop it."

"You'll call?" John bargained.

"Every day."

John looked appreciatively at his oldest son's promise, and then back at the youngest, squeezing the shoulder still beneath his hand.

"Besides," Dean spoke up again, "we're gonna have to swindle laundry money from someone right?"

John snorted, allowing it to turn into a laugh. "Just make sure you call and let me know what you need. And keep me updated."

"We will," Sam spoke up finally. Despite hardly knowing this man, his father, he still felt he owed him something. If anything for the twenty-two years of mourning the man had done for him.

John nodded proudly at the two young men, knowing with absolute certainty that they were making the right choice here. "Then you'd better get going."

John helped his son's gather their meager belongings and weaved their way through the church towards the front door where Father Jim was waiting for them. The older man held the large door open for them and followed them out.

Dean took one of his bags from his brother first so the younger man could say his goodbyes to the Priest. He grabbed the weapons bag that Father Jim had graciously donated to their cause from his father and stuffed that far into the farthest corner in the trunk. He'd have to come up with a way to hide those somehow from wandering eyes and yet still have easy access to them; especially if what the Priest had quietly pulled him aside and warned him about earlier this morning was really out there. He unconsciously shuddered at the thought of coming across some of the nasties the older man described in detail of what to look out for.

Lastly he accepted the last bag from his father that almost pulled his arm off when the older man let go. "What in the world is in this?" He got a better grip on the duffle bag's handles and lifted it, practically flinging it into the trunk.

"Books I think," John answered with a grin on his face at his son's difficulty. "I think the Priest let your brother have free reign at his collection or something."

"No kidding," Dean rolled his shoulder to relieve the strain. He reached up and pulled the trunk closed before turning towards his father. The two looked at each other for a moment before simply embracing one another.

John held tightly before giving his oldest child a pat on the back, releasing him. "Do your old man a favor and stay outta trouble will ya?"

"Seriously?" he asked, though tainted with doubt.

John tilted his head with a grin, "At least give it a good effort."

Dean nodded complacently with a smile of his own, "I will," he replied honestly.

"And one more thing," John reached into his back pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. He risked a quick glance behind him before stepping a little closer to his oldest with a conspiratory look on his face. "Do me a favor and get your brother some new clothes," he stuffed the wad of money into Dean's hand, "and whatever else he needs… or wants."

Dean looked down at the cash with a grateful smile… _man he loved his father_. He gave a small nod looking back up at the man, stuffing the cash into his back pocket. "Thanks Dad."

"And don't hesitate to call me if you get into a bind or low on cash," John said firmly knowing charity was never an easy thing for guys. "I'm serious."

"I know," Dean assured. "We'll call I promise… or at least I'll make Sammy call."

John snorted giving one last loving grip on his son's shoulder, before moving to stand beside him and watching his youngest son and the Priest quietly speaking to one another with familiar ease and great respect. John watched as his youngest child reached forward and tightly embraced the older man with an obvious love. He felt a spike of jealousy and envy stab at his chest. He even felt a brief flare of anger at the Priest for knowingly keeping his boy from his family all these years; but he understood why he did it. And in the end he was just grateful his son was alive.

He glanced briefly out of the corner of his eye at his eldest. He hadn't told him, but as soon as they left, he was going to have a long conversation with the Priest. His sons were lucky to be alive after last night… he didn't want to rely on luck in the future. He planned on learning everything he could so he could help protect them when the time came, and the Priest seemed to have a pretty good knowledge of what was going on around them.

Dean raised his eyebrows as his brother and Father Jim turned toward them finally. "You ready?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded with a small smile, feeling a lot more confident after his brief exchange of words with who he'd always considered a father growing up. He stopped in front of his true father and gave a shy smile. "I guess we'll call then right?"

"You'd better," John reached forward and pulled the young man to him. Sam smiled and gave him a quick hug before pulling away again. "Be good," John ordered and then playfully ran a hand over the boy's head, mussing his already messy hair, "and get a haircut."

Sam smiled with a complacent nod despite knowing perfectly well he wouldn't. "Bye," he said pulling the door to Dean's car open and sliding in.

"See ya Dad," Dean waved, "I'll call and let you know when we stop somewhere."

John nodded and gave a final wave as the younger man also climbed into his prized possession with ease.

Dean shut his door and stuck the key in the ignition glancing at his brother. He paused seeing the younger man running his hand along the leather. "What?"

Sam's head whipped around in surprise, "What- oh uh…" he went back to inspecting the car, "nothing I just… this is a really nice car."

"Yeah she is," Dean agreed shamelessly turning the engine over.

"Did you buy it yourself," Sam asked with a little bit of awe lacing his voice.

Dean smirked, putting her into drive and pulling out into the street, "No, she was gift from Dad actually. He got a good deal for her from a guy at his car shop. We just had to touch her up a bit and change out a few pipes but yeah… she's my baby," Dean said lovingly, stroking the dashboard.

Sam watched him with a growing smile. "So… why didn't you tell me- um, dad was still around," he asked, feeling a little awkward still at claiming the man as his father.

Dean shrugged, "It just never really came up yesterday."

Sam's brow raised, "_Never came up_?"

"Well that and I kinda wanted it to be a surprise," he admitted.

"Yeah well you almost gave me a heart attack," he accused.

Dean tilted his head with a grin on his face. "Man, I wish you could've seen the look on your face." He glanced at Sam who was shaking his head and trying very hard not to smile. "Hey," he sobered, "I need to make one last stop real quick okay?"

"Okay," Sam said curiously.

Dean slowed down in front of a large garage and pulled into the driveway. He put the car in park and undid his seatbelt, all the while staring at the building a bit apprehensively. "I'll be right back okay?"

Sam could see what he assumed was something akin to longing in the older man's expression. "You want me to come with you?"

"No, it'll just be a few minutes," he assured and then climbed out of the car and towards the wide-open garage.

Sam could see a bunch of guys suddenly crowd around his brother with varying expressions of concern and worry. Sam wondered briefly what excuse Dean was going to tell his fellow fire-fighters as to what had happened and why he was leaving. He'd mentioned using a road trip or something… but what was he telling them about the stranger in his car? He sighed and self-consciously looked down as almost every head suddenly turned towards him… trying to sneak a very obvious peek at Dean Winchester's little brother.

He waited a minute before chancing a glance back up, just in time to see his brother hugging some of the guys and getting slaps on the back and farewells. Sam fidgeted with his hands and not for the first time wondered if he was making a selfish decision here. True, it had all been Dean's idea in the first place… but Sam couldn't deny that he really truly wanted the time away to get to know him and figure out together how to defeat the Fire Demon. But did he really have a right to take Dean away from all this; this life his brother had spent the last twenty-two years creating. He shoved his hair out of his face with a frustrated sigh.

Dean threw one last nod of farewell at the men he'd spent the last six years with, watching each other's back and sometimes saving each other's lives. He hadn't realized until he'd stepped beneath the shelter of the garage one last time just how much he was really going to miss the place; the routine; the downtime… the friends.

As he turned back toward the car he saw the one person he really needed to see. Marris hesitantly walked toward him from outside, holding her bag over her shoulder. Dean stopped in front of her and they both awkwardly avoided each other's eyes.

"You workin a double shift tonight?" Dean finally asked as Marris shifted her bag from her shoulder to hang from her hands before her.

"Yeah, Schmitty came down with something so…" she shrugged.

Dean nodded in acceptance, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets.

Marris glanced behind her towards the lone occupant in Dean's car before turning back to the uncomfortable situation. "So you're really leaving," she stated rather than asked, trying to sound casual.

"There's some things I gotta take care of."

She looked past his shoulder and nodded. "Are you comin back?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly. He could see the questions burning in her mind; but more surprisingly he could see something akin to sadness. It suddenly hit him again just what he was leaving behind. It wasn't just this garage; it was a lifestyle, friends, memories, familiar faces… good times.

"So your one day is up."

He sighed, knowing he'd make the same choice every day for the rest of his life if he had to. "It's all in here," Dean pulled his hands from his pocket along with a thick envelope which he handed over to her. She wrapped her fingers around it and stared at it curiously. "You're gonna think I'm crazy," he laid a hand over hers on the envelope, trying to make absolutely certain she understood just how serious he was being. "All I ask is that you give it a chance." He looked into her eyes and immediately knew she would. He leaned forward and gently kissed her on the cheek. She gave him a small, final smile as he backed away. "Oh and Marris…" he pointed to the envelope, "spread the word… they hate exposure." He grinned openly and then turned, climbing into his car with his brother and driving away.

She watched the car disappear down the road before looking down at the envelope in her hands. She curiously turned it over. Written across the outside were eight words written in black marker.

_Do not go gentle into that good night._

**--S--**

Sam could see Dean glancing at his rear-view mirror every few seconds until the firehouse was no longer within sight. He quietly sighed, staring at the bandages on his hands as he self-consciously picked at them. "You sure you want to do this?"

Dean's head turned curiously. "Do what?"

Sam avoided his brother's look by staring out his side window. "Leave all this behind," he said quietly.

Dean turned back to the road understanding what his brother was _really_ asking. "Sam, we already went over this."

"I know- I just…" Sam shifted in the seat, minutely shaking his head, "I mean we don't have to leave necessarily, we could just hole up someplace hidden; move around town a lot-"

"Sam," Dean said knowingly.

"I mean we wouldn't even have to go out at night, just during the day or-"

"Sam!" Dean cut him off again more firmly this time. He glanced back and forth between the road and his brother, making certain he had his full attention. "We already agreed on this. Meaning you made your own decision to do this," he caught the younger man's eye, "and I made my own decision to do this… okay?" He waited a few seconds, "We didn't force each other into this so you can stop with the whole guilt trip thing. If we stick around they're gonna find us and we'll end up dead; not to mention we're endangering the lives of everyone we know just by being around them."

Sam nodded, and dropped his head a bit sheepishly at being so transparent. "You're right," he agreed quietly.

Dean nodded in approval. "So, did you decide where-to?"

Sam carefully reached down between his feet and the dashboard, pulling out a crisp, brand new map. He unfolded it with a sigh, "Well… I thought maybe we could head south a little; maybe try out Kentucky or Tennessee?" He turned an uncertain look towards his brother. He didn't know why those two places had stuck out in his mind. He guessed they just sounded like peaceful, quiet places to hole up at for a while.

Dean thought about it for a second before shrugging, "Kentucky it is." He grinned, "Sammy wants to see some horses!" he announced loudly in a horrible southern accent. Sam snickered and shook his head. Still grinning, Dean glanced over, "You know which turn-off I need to take?"

"Yeah, it'll be a few hours though," Sam sighed as he re-folded the map and turned to place it in the backseat instead of cluttering the floor where his already too-long legs were trying to fit. As he stiffly turned to drop it on the back seat he noticed an old box filled to the brim sitting on the floor board. "What is this?" He asked with a smirk.

"What?" Dean turned his head as best he could to see what he was looking at.

Sam reached down, wincing as he pulled his injured side slightly and plucked one of the many cassette tapes from its resting place and held it up for Dean to see with a humorously skeptical look, "Motorhead?"

Dean's brow quirked, offended as he snatched the tape out of his brother's hand and proceeded to take it out of its casing.

"You're kidding right?" Sam tried again.

"House rules Sammy," Dean shoved the tape into the deck, "driver picks the music," he looked at his brother, "shotgun shuts his cake-hole." And with that Dean turned back towards the road with a grin on his face as harsh cords suddenly blared from the speakers.

Sam frowned a moment, watching his brother's triumphant smile before reaching forward and ejecting the tape. Dean's head whipped around as the younger man tossed the tape into the back seat. "Shelter rules Deano," Sam slouched down into a comfortable position with his head resting on the seat before turning to look at his brother, "shotgun doesn't give a shit."

Dean ignored the road entirely as he glared openly at his younger brother who had closed his eyes with a smirk on his face. "We're gonna have to work on this chain of command thing," he informed.

"Whatever," Sam dismissed tiredly.

"I'm serious dude."

"Is there something about my position right now that isn't screaming, _hey- sleeping here_," Sam retorted.

"Hey, how's this position for ya?" Dean held up his favorite finger.

Sam peeked an eye open and snorted, "I'm telling Father Jim on you."

"Not unless you'd like me to inform him of Sammy's Shelter rule."

"Wake me up when you wanna switch places," Sam pleasantly ignored him.

A loud bark of a laugh escaped Dean's throat, "That's funny!" he overly-mocked. "Yeah, you're not getting behind _this_ wheel kiddo, uh-uh think again." Dean's eyes shined along with his smile as he looked over at the younger man. He glanced back and forth between the road and his brother, his smile hesitantly and stupidly dying away, "Hey… did you hear me? …Sam?"

A soft snoring filled the silence of the car, and Dean rolled his eyes in annoyance knowing full well the younger man was faking. He shifted in his seat getting comfortable for the long drive ahead. "Brat."

The corner of Sam's lips lifted slightly before truly falling into a safe feeling and allowing the blanket of sleep to pull him in.

**Epilogue**

The dull, yellow light of his office dimly lit the hidden chamber as he carefully and quietly slid the trick-door closed again. He reached to the side and flipped the switch, casting a softer light across the room. He slowly took a seat at a small table and rested a large, obviously very old book upon its surface with a quiet reverence. He stared at it for a few moments, his fingers running along the tethered edges. Finally coming to a decision, he down into his pants and pulled out his cell phone, dialing a number he knew only by memory and then waited.

"Caleb, it's Jim… listen," he ran a hand over his mouth with a sigh, "I'd like you to put out a word for me with the others. There's some newcomers on the scene and I'm requesting you all to keep an eye out for them." He listened to the other man's question knowing even before he'd called that it was going to be asked. "I don't know if they're the ones or not Caleb," he sighed picking at the edges of the book beneath his hand once more. "But I can tell you that even if they aren't… they're going to become very powerful allies. …Yes, two brothers… the Winchesters."

**The End**

Such a bittersweet ending… I'm glad it's over – but at the same time I'm sad. If you liked this story- yes, I am continuing it in a sequel. However, a plot bunny beat me up in bed earlier this week and made me promise to write a quick side story. So I've got something else I'm working on right now and then I'll jump on back to the other story. Guys… thank you again so very much for all the reviews!! You have no idea, well- some of you do, just how much they mean to me! I hope this turned out to be everything you were waiting for. Here's looking forward to the upcoming episodes!! **EXCITED** :)


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